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COUSIN ALICE 



MEMOIR OF ALICE B. HAVEN. 



;.Vo<^* ^ . ^ 



V. 




NEW YOEK: 
D. APPLETOE" AND COMPANY. 
90, 92 & 94 GRAND ST. 

1868. 






Enteked, according to Act of Cougross, in the year 1S64, by 

D. APPLETON & CO., 

la the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Soutlieru District ol 
New York. 



THE CHILDREN OF 
i^XilCE B. H ^ V E I>r 

AND 

TO HER FEIEXDS, 

THIS MEMORIAL 

OF A LIFE SPENT IN BEAEING THE BURDENS OF OXnERS, 

AND SO FULFILLING THE LAW OF CHRIST, 

IS AFFECTIONATELY 

IIJ^SCBIBED. 



" YOU MIGHT HAVE WON THE POET S NAME 
IF SUCH BE WORTH THE WINNINIGt NOW, 
AND GAINED A LAUREL FOR YOUR BROW 
OF SOUNDER LEAF THAN I CAN CLAIM. 

" BUT YOU HAVE MADE THE WISER CHOICE, 
A LIFE THAT MOVES TO GRACIOUS ENDS 
THROUGH TROOPS OF UNRlltlORDING FRIENDS 
A DEEDFUL LIFE, A SILENT YOICE." 

Tennyson, 



PKEFACE, 




HE best words wMcli we can frame to 
describe a painting by a Master, fall 
immeasurably below tbe master- 
piece itself in tbe power of moving tbe intellect 
or swaying tbe feelings of tbe bebolder. Even 
tbe silent marble, cbiselled into grace and 
beanty, inspires emotions wbicb are beyond 
tbe power of reproduction in tbe pbrases of 
any language used by one wbo knows all its 
secret resources. 

Yet tbese triumpbs of art are incommen- 
surable witb tbe moving forms of Beauty and 



8 PREFACE. 

of Grace which they feebly figure and represent 
There is hardly more of likeness between them 
than between death and life. Indeed these are 
changeless and dead, while that which they 
embody is changing and vital, whether it be 
the landscape which is another yet the same, 
in every hour's snn or shade, in the green of 
spring or amid the autumn's flying leaves, or 
whether it be the hmnan form, which with every 
motion creates a new and livelier sculpture. 

There must needs come then to the one 
who has written, or to them who read, a more 
painful sense of inadequacy and imperfection, 
when it is a life which has been portrayed, 
when it is not the single aspect of a form, or 
of a scene, but the unfolding and upbuilding 
of a noble character, which has been attempted 
to be described ; its collision with circumstan- 
ces, and its inner conflicts. There are even 
Bubtler and finer graces in life than in beauty. 



PREFACE. £ 

and a noble cliaracter is more indescribable 
than a splendid view, and less easy to be fixed 
in any form of words for remembrance or 
influence, wben the scene is distant or the life 
has been transplanted to another sphere. 

Yet it was due that such a life as hers 
who is the subject of this biography should be 
written, however briefly or imperfectly ; for in 
the judgment of those who saw merely its 
spiritual radiance, as well as of those who 
lived in its life-giving atmosphere, it was a 
life filled with temptations and trials which 
wrought in her a singular humility ; of afflic- 
tions and difficulties converted by a deep 
religious chemistry into Christian graces; of 
weaknesses and imperfections transmuted into 
spiritual symmetry and power. It was a life 
which none who saw it as it was liv^ed, and 
none to whom these pages shall convey any 
just conception of it, would willingly let die. 



CONTENTS 



PART I. 
THE ORDEAL. 

Chapter I.— Introductory, . . . • 

11. — Childhood, .... 
III. — School Life, . . . ■ 

IV. — Her Marriage, 
v.— The Young Wife, . 
YI. — ^The First Year op ^Vidowhood, 
VII.— The Struggle, 

VIII.— The Tenor of her Life in Philadelphia, 
IX.— Her Life in Philadelphia (continued), 
X. — Winter in Charleston, 
XI.— The Struggle Ending, 



PAGE 

15 

20 

29 

40 

55 

67 

80 

96 

110 

125 

138 



PART II. 
HOME LIFE. 



Chapter I. — ^Second Marriage, 
IT, — New Experiences, 



149 
160 



12 CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

Chap. III. — Ideas op Life Work, . . . 1*70 

IV. — The Spring in Nashville, . . 183 

V. — Return to the North, . . . 195 

VI. — Introduction to her Last Journal, . 204 

VII.— Her Sabbath, . . . . 214 

VIIL— Confirmed Faith, . . . .225 

IX. — ^Leaving Locust Cottage, . . 238 



PART III. 

BEADY FOR REST. 

Chapter I. — The Willows, . . . .249 

II. — Journal and Letters, ... 2G0 

III.— Record of 1858 and 1859, . 271 

IV. — Winters in Florida and Santa Cruz, . 285 

v.— The Summer op 1861, . . .300 

VI. — Her First Illness, . . . 315 

VII. — ^An Interval of Health, . . . 330 

Vni. — ^Her Last Journal, • . . 345 

IX. — ^Last Letters, .... 358 

X.— Last Hours, .... 368 

Conclusion, . . . . . SVB 



TART I, 



THE ORDEAL 



PART I. 

TEE ORDEAL. 



CHAPTEK I. 



INTRODUCTORY. 




^^MILY BEADLE Y was the name 
borne in cMlclliood by Mrs. Haven. 
If there is that in blood which par- 
ticularly forms, or modifies, charac- 
ter, this child had a singular inheritance. Her 
ancestors, on her father's side, were men whom 
enterprise and a love of adventure kept upon 
the sea. Her father's father, and all his broth- 
ers, with remoter connections, were sea captains 
in the various services of our country. They 
were brave, resolute men, whose determination 
and daring were proverbial. 



16 COUSIN ALICE. 

Her father, too delicate for siicli a life, on 
account of an injuiy whicli Le liad received in 
liis youth, and whicli prevented his attaining 
the physical force of his brothers, was yet not 
unlike them in spirit. Pride, ambition, and in- 
domitable purpose, were the stamina of a char- 
acter softened by tender and generous impulses. 
Dying while his four children were all in the 
years of infancy — even the eldest could only re- 
member him, as a sad-hearted and depressed 
invalid, consumed by a fiery and hopeless am- 
bition. 

He died on the 13th of September, 1830, 
Emily's third birthday. An infant daughter 
soon followed the father, and Emily was thus 
left the youngest of a fatherless group of little 
onQS. 

She became the charge of a mother most 
unlike the father in character and disposition ; 
the representative of a family noted for firm 
faith and fervent piety. Her maternal ancestry 
was the counterpart of that on the father's side. 
Two more opposite races could not have blend- 
ed. Her mother was of Baptist and Quaker 
descent. l!^early a score of clergymen could be 



INTRODUCTORY. 17 

counted amongst her immediate ancestors and 
relatives. Her fatlier had had but little sym- 
pathy with his wife's family, so unlike himself 
in traits which, nevertheless, commanded his 
respect, if they did not arouse his emulation. 
They were humble-minded, devout, and, in some 
cases, scholarly men, most unworldly in purpose 
and unselfish in action. Their strong faith, their 
unswerving fidelity to their religion, and the 
simplicity and purity of their lives, sent a sweet 
and healthful current into the veins of their 
children. 

Emily's largest inheritance, both mental and 
spiritual, was from this side of the family ; but 
there was a persistent force of character derived 
from her father, which marked her whole life. 

Even in childhood she showed the most op- 
posite traits, one or another predominating in 
the various phases she passed through, and giv- 
ing tone to the different periods of her life. 
These could all be traced in her later years, not 
then presenting contrarieties that were perplex- 
ing and discouraging to those around her, but 
harmonized by her religion into a character, 
forcible in action, which was unremitting from 



18 . . COUSIN ALICE. 

principle, and profound in devout meditation, 
and in a rich, spiritual life. [N'ever was there a 
better illustration of the many-sidedness which 
is essential to breadth of interest, sympathy, and 
purpose. It was this large nature, this compre- 
hensiveness of mind and heart, which, finally, 
purified by the graces of God's spirit, absorbed 
self, and made the noble woman. 

That this height was not reached without 
hard struggles, many futile efforts, and much 
discouragement, by the way, will readily be 
seen by all who can appi-eciate the conflicting 
elements of her nature, the peculiar trials of her 
life, and a delicate physical constitution, which 
most persons would have felt justified in plead- 
ing as an excuse for many short-comings. 

Harmonious character is not an inheritance 
or an endowment. It is the result of strenuous 
effort ; it is the guerdon of the self-controlled ; 
it is the unconscious crown of the devoted, the 
self-denying, the resolute and fervent spirit. If 
intellectual character be " knowledge organized 
into faculty," then religious character is simple 
faith matured into spiritual insight. 

This child, with her rare endowments, ripen- 



INTRODUCTORY. • 19- 

ed into a woman, illustrating each form of cliar- 
acter, while she led a life of increasing singleness 
and humility. 

To trace the growth which had such rich 
results, and to read from this short life lessons 
which shall long teach others her sweet wisdom, 
is our purpose. 




CHAPTEE II. 

cniLDnooD. 

)KOM an early period a disease of tlie 
eyes manifested itself in this child, 
who had never seemed to promise 
robust health. This so affected all 
her school-life, that she was liable to great suf- 
fering, yet a peculiar patience under her suffer- 
ino- orew out of it. This was in marked contrast 
to an elder sister, whose impetuosity often al- 
lowed the younger child an ascendency in her 
superior self-control. There was a difference of 
five years in their ages ; but the difference, even 
in childhood, was frequently lost sight of in the 
precocity of Emily and in her early-acquired 
power of restraint. 

She learned so rapidly on all subjects, and 
every thing that came within her reach, that she 



CHILDHOOD. 21 

was soon noted as a cliild of rare acquirements. 
Her memory was as ready as it was retentive ; 
and it was to tliis faculty tliat she was indebted 
for her remarkably extensive knowledge, as her 
eyes were often useless for months together, for 
either reading or study. 

"When she was six years old she was adopted 
by an uncle, her mother's eldest brother, a cler- 
gyman of fine literary taste and scholastic at- 
tainment. His wife was a woman of uncommon 
mental strength, her husband's companion in his 
library, giving him his best intellectual stimulus 
and sympathy. This gentleman, the Eev. J. 
E'ewton Brown, was residing in Boston at this 
time, engaged in editing " The Religious Ency- 
clopsedia," a work of research and erudition. 
Mrs. Brown was his constant assistant m the 
preparation of this book. Though childless, she 
was a passionate lover of children, finding her 
recreation in those of her adoption, for another 
little girl was already sharing the mother's love 
which overflowed her heart. 

They remained in Boston till the work they 
w^ere engaged upon was completed, and then re- 
turned to Exeter, l^ew Hampshire, where Mr. 



22 COUSIN ALICE. 

Brown was a minister of tlie Baptist churcli. 
The time spent in Boston was very pleasant to 
Emily. The beautiful Common, near which 
they lived, and where she played, made one of 
he most cherished pictures in her memory of 
ner child-life ; and associated with it was the fair 
little Louise, her adopted sister, whom she loved 
very tenderly. • 

In Exeter she was able to go to school, as she 
had done in Boston, for a year or two, when she 
was attacked by the disease which so often dark- 
ened her young life, and which became in this 
instance a blindness that lasted for several 
months. That she suffered terribly none could 
doubt ; but her suffering was rarely, if ever, a 
matter of complaint. She would be patient in 
a darkened room for hours together, drawing on 
an imagination and a memory which were 
equally remarkable, for her pastime. What was 
read aloud to her she remembered accurately, 
and she spent a great deal of time in parodying 
familiar little poems and in composing won- 
der stories. Sometimes her uncle, who was also 
an invalid that winter, was lier companion, some- 
times her elder sister, then living in the family, 



CHILDHOOD. 22 

but oftener the clear little Louise, whose love 
was a great solace, though the two children were 
mentally so unlike, that the bond between them 
was almost entirely that of affection. 

Sensitive and imaginative as she was, some 
idea may be formed of her self-control and pa- 
tience, from two instances. She bore applica- 
tions of leeches to her eyelids and face, day after 
day, for hours at a time, without a perceptible 
shudder, and with no word of the shrinking which 
she afterv/ards declared possessed her to such a 
degree, that she sometimes thought she should 
lose her senses. 

Another great trial was, that at night she 
was the only person who slept on that floor of ff 
large three-story house. Her bedroom had been 
arranged on the first floor, usually occupied by 
the family during the day, when it was thought 
she would most need to be surrounded by com- 
panions, in the hope that the lone hours which 
she spent — and these did not begin till the elder 
members of the family had retired to rest — would 
be passed by her in sleeg. As she never required 
any thing at night, it was not considered neces- 
sary for any one to remain with her. 



24 COUSIN ALICE. 

She said many years afterwards, that no 
words that she" could use, could ever describe the 
hours of torture she sometimes passed, when suf- 
fering or her fears kept her awake, and the vic- 
tim of her active imagination. She was l^ut nine 
years old when passing through this ordeal, and 
few children would have borne it without a mm*- 
mur, leaving the revelation of her suffering till 
years had passed. 

Her reserve grew upon her, and it was inev- 
itable that she should be easily misunderstood, 
' and should often lack sympathy. This increased 
the privacy of her inner life, and led her to say 
frequently that she passed two childhoods equally 
real, one that all knew of, and another that no one 
suspected. Traits were manifested in her out- 
ward life, giving rise to many fears on the part 
of those w^ho had charge of her, which gradually 
gave way to the inner growth out of which the 
woman was born. 

"When Emily was nine years old, her own 
mother was married a second time. The child 
had always yearned for her own home and the 
indulgence of that first-remembered mother's 
love. She and her sister returned in the spring 



CHILDHOOD. 25 

of 1838 to Hudson, IST. Y., wLicli was tlieir birth- 
place and tlieir mother's residence. After spend- 
ing tlie summer with her mother, the elder sister, 
whose school education was in progress, returned 
to the uncle and aunt, under whose fostering 
care she remained till her marriage, which oc- 
curred as soon as she graduated at school. Mr. 
Brown was now professor in a theological insti- 
tution at ]N"ew Hampton, E". H. There was a 
young ladies' school in the same town, which 
had a great reputation then, and here, when 
Cornelia left, Emily came to pass her gii4hood, 
and receive her mental training. 

The two sisters were thus parted ; nor were 
they ever together again except for a few wrecks 
or months, and after the lapse of long intervals 
of time. Yet as years went by, and like tastes 
and principles assimilated very unlike natures, 
the love which never failed between them led 
to mutual influence, and this to a bond stronger 
than mere kinship involved. 

The school-life of Emily, in Hudson, has its 
record in a journal begun when she was but 
twelve years old, and in many little stories writ- 
ten for juvenile magazines and readers. " Keep- 



26 COUSIN ALICE. 

ing a Journal," a story to be found in a little 
volume, recently published, called " The Pet 
Bird, and Otlier Stories, by Cousin Alice," 
gives the history of the beginning of this first 
journal and of her practice, which she kept up 
as long as she lived. 

An instance may find place here of her sin- 
gular patience under disappointment and sufier- 
ing. Cornelia was married when Emily was 
thirteen, and spent a few weeks in Hudson with 
her family, before leaving for the South, where 
her husband resided. 

Yarious excursions were planned, in which 
Emily took great delight. The most charming 
of all was to be a visit paid to a favorite uncle 
living near the blue range of the Catskills, which 
bounded the landscape west of the pretty little 
city of Hudson. This range of mountains had 
been fertile in romance to the poetic nature of 
the child. To penetrate them had been a day- 
dream for years, and now it was to be a reality. 
She could hardly wait for the morning to come 
when the journey Was to begin; and an enthusi- 
asm, all the more fervent that it was commonly 



CHILDHOOD. 27 

SO pent up, was for once poured out in eager 
expressions of anticipation. 

The morning came, golden with promise for 
the day, when this journey was to begin ; but 
the poor little girl was found quite blind upon 
the couch to which she had gone the night be- 
fore so gay with hope. Her brother and sister 
stood sorrowfully beside her, ready to give up 
the visit thus saddened by her disappointment, 
and looking for a lamentation proportioned to 
the anticipation she had been indulging. 

But there were no tears and no murmurings ; 
there was little indication of the sharp pain of 
body and mind to which they must leave her. 
She said, simply, " I ought not to have antici- 
pated so much. I should have remembered 
iiow liable I am to such attacks as these. This 
is a common thing with me. Don't think any 
more of it, or of how much I wanted to go. It 
will spoil your visit, and that would be worse 
than losing mine." • 

Even while she spoke in calm, low tones, her 
slender little fingers were clasped so forcibly, as 
to send the blood to their tips, and to show at 
what a cost she had attained this self-control. 



28 CCU8IN ALICE. 

And this was tlie child's pliilosopliy taiiglit 
her through much suffering, giving her a power 
of endurance which, when the grace of God aided 
and enhanced it, made up the strength of her 
life. 



CHAPTEE III. 



SCHOOL LIFE. 




OO^N" after the incident just men- 
tioned, Emily went to New 
Hampton " to complete iter edu- 
cation," as the phrase is. She 
had already exhibited some ambition to become 
a scholar, and had begun to use her pen, as was 
shown by an accumulation of manuscripts, 
some indicating more than common promise, 
while others were merely the safety-valves of a 
nature that found little, and inadequate, expres- 
sion to those around her. 

Emily was a member of her uncle's family 
while she attended school, having the advantage 
of his supervision of her studies, and of his large 
and well-selected library. He was a poet him- 



30 COUSIN ALICE. 

self, and this was also an advantage to tlie aspir 
ing girl. But one liindrance always awaited 
her in the progress she aimed to make. The af- 
fection of her eyes subjected her to constant de- 
pression, and forbade her taking that place in 
her classes which she might otherwise have held 
with ease. She was not infrequently entirely 
dependent for her preparation for school on the 
studying aloud of a classmate ; and thus pre- 
pared, she would still appear to better advantage 
than many who had been able to spend hours 
over their books. In a record made in her jour- 
nal at this time, she says : 

" m, ill, ill. "What is tlie use of my good resolutions 
about system and time, and doing my best ? Am I never 
to be perfectly well ? Shall I never have what people 
call health ? This thought is enough to wear me out. 
They say I have patience ! They little know how terri- 
bly I feel the sting of an incurable malady. Am I yet 
to be entirely blind ? But I have seen the time when I 
thought I could bear even blindness, so the love of God 
was mine. Now I am without God and without hope." 

" To hide my wretchedness, I often assume an ugly 
manner, and people say, ' how unamiable ! ' " 

"This bitterness must be overcome. It will poison 
my life." 



SCHOOL LIFE. 'SI 

Expressions like these abound in the pages of 
her journal. 

The reference to 'her willingness to bear even 
blindness, if she could feel the support of God's 
love, will be better understood by an explanation 
of her state of mind in regard to religion. The 
child of many prayers, and of vivid spiritual im- 
pressions from her earliest years, she had per- 
suaded herself, when only thirteen years old, that 
she was a fit subject for church membership — 
and encouraged in this feeling by some who 
thought her uncommon maturity should be re- 
spected in the matter, she had been admitted as 
a member of the Baptist church in Hudson. As 
she grew older, and had a clearer perception of 
what such a step involved, she became aware of 
her unfitness for the relation, and grew impa- 
tienc of its restraints, and of the false position 
in which it placed her. 

It had not the efiect which such a misstep 
sometimes has on a young person, who, feeling 
that she has been the victim of a delusion, fan- 
cies that all professing Christians are either vic- 
tims or impostors. There was never any ten- 
dency to scepticism in her mind. She recognized 



32 COUSIN ALICE. 

only her own unfitness ; and tliere are continual 
expressions even in lier lightest moods, of dis- 
satisfaction with herself on this account, and of 
the yearning* for something better and higher, 
and more satisfying than any tiling she could 
yet grasp. In all this she saw only one source 
of comfort — the love of God ; and this seemed to 
be denied to her, though to possess it she thought 
she would even be willing " to forever close her 
eyes to every object of beauty and affection," as 
she says, with great earnestness. She was not 
apt to give expression to her affection for others 
in the caressing ways which are natural to some 
young gu'ls, but her heart was warmer than her 
manner indicated. She writes of this : 

" I have never known positive happiness. My sorrow 
is all regret, my joy is hope. I live only in the past and 
future. Often my heart is full of love — ^love to all around 
me, even to those whom I treat with apparent coldness 
and indifference. I cannot let those I love, know it by 
outward signs, still less by words. Few understand me. 
I do not quite understand myself, I think." 

A few days later appears a record, which 
gives a rare insight into her nature, and the 
phase of her life then passing : 



SCHOOL LIFE. 33 

" Of all my wild and ambitious dreams, I have never 
dared commit one to paper ; but to-da;/ I am too full of 
tliem to repress the thoughts which are crowding upon me. 

" I sometimes feel that I am not born for a common 
destiny, that I have talents which might elevate me 
above those with whom I now associate — most of them, 
I mean. I dare not say that I have genius. It is too 
holy a word to be taken lightly. But hundreds have had 
these same thoughts and feelings, have felt this same 
spirit strive within them, have hoped, dreamed, prayed, 
and — died, leaving the world nought with which to keep 
' their memories green.' The grave has closed over their 
high hopes. And this is not all. These persons have 
had genius ; outward circumstances alone have hindered 
its development. 

"Then many have been deluded, who have vainly 
dreamed that they were of the chosen few destined to 
immortality ; aiid when these dreams have passed away, 
they have sunk to the common level, content with the 
common lot. Tor this reason I have never put my hopes 
and fears upon paper. I would not care so much for the 
first fate. I could at least carry my high thoughts with 
me ; but the last.^ after all I had hoped, and dreamed, and 
toiled for, to give up voluntarily, to forget that I ever 
wished to be distinguished, or to look on those wishes, 
if remembered, only as the follies of a child — aye more, 
to be content with this, and to pass through life unno- 
ticed and unknown — this I cannot endure. I am excited 

this morning. If I waited till my thoughts cooled, I 
2* 



84 COUSIN ALICE. 

sliould not place them on record ; but, feeling as I now 
do, I would saj, 'henceforth, ambition, be thou my 
angel ! ' 

" And I would that it might be a holy ambition ; that 
I might have the love of the good as well as the worldly; 
that I might have the thanks of my fellow-creatures, as 
well as their praises. Is this a vain dream ? It shall not 
le. By a fixed determination, and by every effort, I will 
accomplish the task I would mark out for myself. For 
help in this, I look to my journal. I will begin my work 
by improving my time, and by being ambitious in small 
things. I will strive to perform my duty^ and when I 
come to the great struggle, I shall not be faint-hearted. 
I cannot afford to waste time now in dreams of what 
may befall me." 

During tlie years of her school life, this jour- 
nal is a record of variations of the feeling here 
described. A thii'st for love, which often took 
the form to those about her of a craving for 
praise and admiration ; a sense of great and in- 
creasing dissatisfaction with herself, and in all, 
by which she vainly sought to alleviate this 
thii'st of her soul ; an ambition for a recognition 
in the region of intellectual producers, and re- 
solves that sustained her even under the greatest 
discouragements. 



SCHOOL LIFE. 35 

She slirunk from revealing her profouncler 
emotions, and did herself great injustice by their 
concealment. Even to her sister she writes, in 
the very year in which she makes a record of 
her resolution to do duty Vv^ell : 

" Your eternal monotone of duty disencliants me with 
life. Say it is duty^ and tlie fire goes out, the living im- 
pulse is dead. I hate the word. I was never appealed 
to by an action that was the offspring of a sense of duty." 

It was the struggle of a young and active 
spirit, feeling its strength " with the sense of 
wings," but ignorant as yet that strength, to be 
power, must come under the dominion and into 
the obedience of law. 

Her reserve was, however, sometimes thrown 
off, and her nobler nature found irriasistible ex- 
pression. A schoolmate, who was in the same 
family, and her constant companion, bears wit- 
ness to the rare occasions of which this could 
be said : 

" I used to sit at her feet and listen to her eloquent 
words, till I was carried out of the realities of our lives 
into the higher regions which she seemed to penetrate. 
I hstened in wonder and full faith, and I half worshipped 
her, as she bore me along. I can never describe the 



\ 



36 COUSIN ALICE. 

effect of tliese talks upon me : they opened new tvorlds 
to me. "When I used to write to my mother so admir- 
ingly of Emily, she, seeing her only as she was commonly 
known and understood, would rebuke me for yielding 
myself so much to her influence. But I was borne along 
by the irresistible foi'ce. of her genius. People have 
called her brilliant and fascinating in society since then, 
and we have heard how unequalled she was in conversa- 
tional power, "Was it strange that I yielded to the power 
which even then was hers whenever she chose to use it ? 
It was her genius which gave it to her as much then as 
later in life." 

She was herself becoming conscious of the 
brilliant faculty which afterwards characterized 
her in society. She was also finding out that 
she possessed some personal graces, which had 
their influence on others. E'otwithstanding the 
weakness to which they were liable, her eyes 
were remarkably beautiful ; large, soft, lustrous 
Drown eyes, with a capacity for expression that 
amounted to fascination. A delicate, well-form- 
ed mouth, with the flexible upper lip, which is 
always attractive: a profusion of rich brown 
liair, a brilliant color and a graceful bearing, 
were her chief charms. Her hand was as dimin- 
utive as a child's ; indeed she required a smaller 



SCHOOL LIFE. . 37 

glove than any ladies' size — ^lier fingers taper and 
wliite, and pink-tipped ; they certainly did not 
seem made for life's uses. She nsed to say laugh- 
ingly of herself, that her vanity in her hands sur- 
vived all other weaknesses of the kind ; that even 
when the gravest cares of her later years were 
resting npon her, her one temptation in dress 
was fresh and pretty gloves ; to these she always 
treated herself when any pecuniary success made 
her elate ; but she said, " I never wear new 
gloves to church — I feel so very silly in my con- 
sciousness there of my vanity." 

This personal vanity was a great trial and 
temptation, and, finally, mortification to her ; 
but it opened to her one gate to the lovely hu- 
mility of her later years. In her girlhood it was 
indulged, as would be natural to one who was 
admired and flattered. She did not think she 
was beautiful even in later life, when "her 
features had been chiselled by thought," bat 
she felt that she had personal power, especially 
in her conversation with men, and she invol- 
untarily exulted in it, always to follow it with a 
self-inflicted humiliation, which a sense of the 
pettiness of the pleasure brought her. She did 



38 COUSIN ALICE. 

not attempt to analyze the power slie possessed, 
but to exercise it was a temptation few of her age 
could have resisted. Against this exercise, how- 
ever, she was soon on her guard, and very early 
we find her making resolutions to refrain from it, 
and to live down with nobler aims the conscious- 
ness which might become the bane of her life. 

The more intense her dissatisfaction with her- 
self, the more trifling and reckless was her bear- 
ing to those who sought to do her good. She 
writes : 

" This spirit of evil will alienate all my friends. I see 
their discouragement ; I hear their predictions of evil for 
me ; I know their distrust of my motives, and their want 
of comprehension of me — their lack of appreciative sym- 
pathy makes me desperate. I seize the present good, and 
let them croak on, while God only knows how miserable 
I am, and how I hate myself for this double life, this de- 
nial of the good which is contending with the evil of 
my nature." 

One of her teachers, a close observer and 
good student of human nature, wrote to her 

sister : 

"Emily gives me many anxious hours. She lacks 
heart ; she lacks the power to rise above herself, and to 



SCHOOL LIFE. 39 

forget herself in the happiness and good of others. I am 
compelled to fear, too, that she is wanting in principle. 
She is not frank ; and when I am talking with her, I am 
conscious that her soul is veiled to me. One daj she 
said, in a cold, sarcastic tone, after an hour of remon- 
strance on my part : ' I thank you for your good inten- 
tions. You are, however, very unjust to me — but I am 
used to that, and can bear it. I am thankful for one fac- 
ulty — the power to hold my tongue when words would 
not avail.' Thus buffeted back, what can I do for her ? 
Yet she has an extraordinary mind ; she is mentally fas- 
cinating, and will be so externally. She is proudly am- 
bitious ; and should she continue so, and ever have good 
health and the untrammelled use of her eyes, she will not 
rest till she has achieved a reputation as a writer. I must 
believe that she wears the worst outside, that she is much 
better at heart than she is willing to have us believe. I 
once heard her say: 'Above all things, I hate cant. 
"What my life does not do for me in commanding the re- 
spect of others, may go undone. I cannot ioXkgoodcy,'' " 



CHAPTEE lY, 



UEB MARRIAGE. 



For a wonder-cliange -vritliin her heart, 

At that sweet time is wrought, 

When on the heart is softly laid 

The spell of deeper thought." 




HIS is inscribed at the beginning of 
tbe last volume wliicli records her 
school life, and if the writer conld 
have anticipated all the book would 
hold, it could not have had a fitter preface. 
Thought and feeling were working "wonder 
changes " during these moulding years. Exter- 
nally, there was a hfe of feverish excitement, 
contrasting with the despondencies her ill health 
could not fail to bring. Emily, as she said of 
herself afterwards, went to her journal as to a 
confessional, and it bears witness now of the 



HER MARRIAGE. 41 

sliarp struggle wliicli her noble aspirations had 
with the temptations to leyitj and frivolity that 
so often gained the victory at that period. No 
one conld condemn her failures so severely as 
she condemns them herself, and constantly she 
vows herself to a higher life, in whose serene at- 
mosphere of self-denial and worthy purpose she 
should be able to command her self-respect. Her 
standard was never lowered, but her lips were 
continually false to the nobility of her soul, and 
that she so misrepresented herself, filled her with 
remorse. 

The books she read, the criticisms she has 
recorded of them, and the books and poems she 
planned and, in some cases, began, show how 
unflagging was her mental activity. There are 
graphic sketches and fine plans for poems, and 
even dramas of an ambitious sort, introduced 
from time to time — ending generally with a 
sigh over her inadequacy to their accomplish- 
ment. Her contributions to the school litera- 
ture, and the essays, sketches, or poems which 
she read before its " Literary Society," were 
original and full of promise. Those who were 
appreciative amongst the teachers, and her ma- 



12 - COUSIN ALICE. 

turer friends, already predicted for lier a brilliant 
literary career. They did not foresee that this 
strong^ ^personal amhition^ would merge^ as her 
heart expanded and her life developed, into 
nobler jpurjposes and loftier aims, to whose ac- 
comjplishment she would sacrifice every per- 
sonal advantage and every thought of self. 

During part of lier last term at school, she 
occupied herself with a travesty of the fourth 
book of the ^neid, which was very cleverly 
done, and which was read with great applause 
at a public examination. Even at this age she 
was fitted for such a work by a quick and subtle 
play of humor, joined to a fine, keen wit. These 
qualities gave piquancy to the expression of the 
most commonplace ideas, and aided always in 
the brilliant effect of her conversation. 'Eo good 
point in a subject escaped her, and her use of 
language was dextrous and graceful. She lacked, 
of course, the finish which came later, but her 
power of expression was remarkable notwith- 
standing this. In conversation, her repartee, 
which flashed as quickly, and in those days not 
as innocently, as the summer lightning, the ready 
allusion for which she was indebted to her mem- 



HER MARRIAGE. 43 

oiy, the apt quotation from tlie same source, tlie 
. witty comparison so clever, and yet so unex- 
pected by slower and less fertile minds, made up 
the quality of the talk, which came with femi- 
nine fluency, and in a low, soft voice, whose pretty 
inflections were always attractive in themselves. 

A friend, rising one day to say farewell, gave 
it with a graceful quotation. Catching up his 
idea, she poured out quotation after quotation 
for at least ten minutes, till it seemed as if she 
had exhausted all applicable passages in the fa- 
miliar poets, and then she said, " I only stop for 
want of breath." " I believe you," was the re- 
ply ; " you would do for a poetical dictionary." 

The writer recalls an instance of her uncom- 
mon memory. It occurred some years after, 
when she was living in Philadelphia. They 
were spending the day together, and Emily said, 

" Have you seen ' In Memoriam ' yet ? " 

"^o, though very impatient for my first 
reading." 

" So am I ; I will send and get the book." 
, The book was brought, and she began to 

I read aloud. As she read, her heart and eyes 
were full, for she had now entered upon her sad 



44 COUSIN ALICE. 

experience of bereavement. When slie finished 
reading, she closed the book, and, referring to 
some passages so beantifnl, that they had been 
twice read, she repeated them, and without re- 
opening the volume, she recalled. other passages 
that had struck her, and continued this till she 
had repeated more than half the poem, and then 
stopped because visitors were announced. 

"And you have never seen this book till this 
morning ? " said her listener, with great surprise. 

" Certainly 1 have not. And now you see to 
what I am indebted for most that I know, learned 
in spite of my eyes." 

It was not verse only, where the rhyme and 
rhythm are so helpful to the memory, that she 
thus kept in mind, nor that alone which ap- 
pealed to her imagination and tastes. Strange 
as it may seem, she had a great fondness for sta- 
tistical information, and a masculine grasp of 
ideas that one would never suppose would find 
place in her mind She was greedy of such 
knowledge, and listened eagerly to any one from 
whom it could be gathered. After her editorial 
life began, this was manifest. A review of a vol- 
ume on Political Economy fell from her pen be- 



HER MARRIAGE. 45 

fore lier check had lost its girlish bloom, and she 
wrote inmunerahle articles on subjects women 
rarely touch, even in their reading. Had her 
eyes allowed her opportunity for thorough study, 
the vigor of her intellect would have been as 
eminent as its grace. Every year of her life 
gave some evidence of this. 

She had a great desire to be a good musician, 
but she never had sti-ength to spend that time at 
the- piano which was necessary to her becoming 
a fine executante. This was a constant pain to 
her. Her voice w^as sweet, but lacked power. 
She sung charmingly, however, accompanying 
herself, and often adapted music to words. She 
delighted in minor music, and had a peculiar 
taste in songs. In her young days she sung very 
archly and with much variety of expression ; 
later in life, singing was worship to her, and she 
gave preference to sacred pieces. The last song 
she ever sung, and her favorite for years, was a 
little poem, " The Two Brides," by E. H. Stod- 
dard, set to a weird tune, which haunted all who 
heard it. 

She made frequent contributions, while at 
school, to the papers and magazines of the day. 



46 COUSm ALICE. 

This displeased her friends, who were desirous 
that she should not publish till her powers were 
more mature. Her sister wrote to her from the 
South, asking that she should not see her name 
before the public till she had reached the age of 
eighteen. The request was literally complied 
with, but her contributions were sent as for- 
merly, only under feigned names. The popu- 
larity of a poem written when she was sixteen, 
and copied into more than thirty journals, made 
the temptation to publish too strong to be re- 
sisted. These lines are a fair expression of that 
period. They were suggested by a sentence in 
Bulwer's play of Richelieu — " In the bright lex- 
icon of youth there is no such word as failp 
And this poem, part of which is copied here, is 
also a school-girl's production, and seems to give 
voice to the aspiration which marked her true 
inner life. The motto is from another poem : 

" It is not the dream of a fancy proud. 
With a fool for its dull begetter, 
A -voice, from the spirit proclaims aloud, 
We are 'born for something better.'''' 

And hast thou, too, been pining long 

For that which may not be ? 
Dost thou share in the solemn thoughts 

That long have dwelt with me ? 



HER MARRIAGE. 47 

Thy words have wakened once again 

The wish within my heart, 
That in a nobler, freer life. 

My spirit might have part. 

I strove to check my soaring thoughts, 

And turned once more to earth. 
Seeking in pleasure to forget 

The mood that gave them birth. 

But now they cast aside the chain. 

And, spurning all control, 
Bid that I listen, and obey 

The voice within my soul. 

I know when comes the spell on thee. 

When from thy weakness bowed, 
The tide that ebbed within thy heart 

Flows once more strong and proud. 

When thou wouldst strive to rend the bonds 

That fetter thee, and find 
New life, where custom leadeth not, 

Where forms no longer bind — 

The earth is then a mockery ; 

Existence but a dream ; 
And those who share with thee its fears, 

As shadowy phantoms seem. 

When space, infinity alone. 

Seems vast enough to fill 
The vDid which, struggle as thou wilt, 

Dwells in the bosom still. 



48 COUSIX ALICE. 

These are but dreams — we are of earth, 

And here we must abide ; 
Must quell, subdue, these murmurings, 

And check this daring pride. 

Our spirits are too gross, too dark, 

In such a land to be. 
And from the bonds of earth and sin 

By death alone made free. 

Yet when through gloom, and gathering storms, 

The vale of death is passed. 
When from this vesture of decay 

The soul is free at last ; 

When sweeping pinions unto us 

With boundless strength are given. 
Then shall we know this purer life, 

As found alone in Heaven." 

At tills time Joseph C. IlsTeal, of Pliiladelpliia, 
tlie autlior of " Charcoal Sketches," which were 
then in the height of their popularity, retired 
from the editorship of the " Pennsylvanian," and 
established a literary newspaper, which he called 
" Ideal's Satm-day Gazette." Some numbers of 
this paper found their way to l!Tew Hampton, 
and excited the admu*ation of the clique in school 
who aspired to be writers. 

Emily having carelessly remarked that this 



HER MARRIAGE. 49 

would be a good paper in wliicli to appear, was 
challenged by her companions to find admit- 
tance to its columns. Accepting the challenge, 
she wrote a story called " The First Declaration," 
which she sent to Mr. E'eal with the nom de 
plume of Alice G. Lee, using a middle name, 
Gordon, to make the incognito more complete. 
The story was not only accepted, but was pub- 
lished, with a very kind editorial notice, in which 
Mr. E'eal says : 

" Tliough second to none in our admiration of Fanny- 
Forrester, it would be injustice not to say that " The First 
Declaration" will compare, without injury, with any pro- 
duction of the kind that has of late adorned our periodical 
literature. How it affects others we cannot tell ; but it 
is to us like moonlight on the flowers when the weary 
day is done, or like music on the water, to meet with a 
sketch so replete with playfulness, yet so delicately marked 
with Coleridge's ' instinct of ladyhood.' There is genius, 
too, and originality in its naivete ; a nice and feminine 
perception of the beautiful, with an ability to portray it, 
which cannot fail of its purpose whenever it is exercised." 

Such commendation from such a source was 
an inspiration to the ambitious girl ; and of 
course this contribution was followed by others, 



60 COUSIN ALICE. 

both prose and verse, many of which were kindly 
alluded to by Mr. ISTeal in his " E'otices to Cor- 
respondents." 

In the course of the summer Emily left school 
for her home in Hudson. There, in the autumn, 
a correspondence sprung up between Mr. Neal 
and herself. It originated in a request which 
she made, when sending him something for his 
paper, that he would be good enough to give 
her his real opinion of her writings. She says 
she made the request with much hesitation, and 
after the letter was sent off would gladly have 
recalled it. But he responded at once, and so 
kindly, yet critically, that she received the best 
sort of encouragement. She continued to write 
freely, but did not publish every thing ; indeed, 
from this time Mr. IS'eal exercised a most friendly 
supervision over her mental progress, for their 
letters were soon numerous, and his were expres- 
sive of an increasing interest. 

One tendency in her mind which was evident 
in her writing, and for which she certainly had 
singular talent, was to show up the weak points 
of others, and to expose the social fictions which 
she encountered in her first entrance into society. 



HER MARRIAGE. 61 

Her unlikeness in tastes and pursuits to those 
with whom she associated, the admiration she 
easily won, and her indifference to conventional 
exactions, had the effect of calling forth some 
strictures in the little town, which she met with 
keen sarcasm ; and she thus gathered material 
for some stories, in which was the germ of the 
volume she published a few years after, called 
" The Gossips of Eivertown." 

A story in this vein was sent to Mr. I^eal 
that winter, but he delayed its publication, and 
used his influence to show her that she would 
find the indulgence of such a spirit a bane to her 
powers. She describes her usual mood from 
fourteen to twenty as very morbid ; and it was 
not strange that a root of bitterness should take 
hold in the rank growth which resulted from 
the circumstances of her life. She appreciated 
the kindness of the strictures made by her wise 
friend ; her heart taught her that she was not 
elevating herself by such indulgence, and she 
willingly refrained from the use of her powers 
of irony and sarcasin, cultivating instead charity 
toward others, pity for their faults of ignorance 



52 COUSm ALICE. 

and nan'owness, and a strong perception of tlio 
good in all, of the beautiful everywhere. 

It was quite a year from the time her first 
story had attracted his attention, and after their 
correspondence had assumed somewhat of an in- 
timate character, that Mr. Neal was informed 
of the real name of his young protegee. Before 
this time, Emily had written to her sister of the 
discomfort she was beginning to feel in her in- 
cognito. In seeking once to account for his in- 
terest in her, he had said, pleasantly, " Perhaps 
your name has something to do with it. Alice 
Gordon Lee sounds very Scotch, and my mother 
is a Scotchwoman, yon know." That she was 
awakening a personal interest could not be un- 
felt, and she began to wish the deception was 
ended. 

At this time, a young gentleman friend, a 
cadet at "West Point, returned to that place at 
the expiration of a furlough, and wrote to Mr. 
Keal to have the " Gazette " sent to him again, 
saying, " It has a new charm for me now, since 
I find it contains the contributions of a dear 
friend, under the nom de plume of Alice G 
Lee." Mr. Keal was very much sui-prised, and 



HER MARRIAGE. 53 

wrote a witty letter to the young lady who had 
so long and so successfully worn the mask. 

Having made acquaintance while he was 
passing through Philadelphia with Emily's bro- 
ther-in-law, Mr. Richards, who was also an 
editor, at the South, Mr. E'eal proposed to visit 
him in Hudson, where Mrs. Eichards had been 
spending the summer with her mother and sis- 
ter. The visit was made in September, 184:6. 
It resulted in a confirmation of the agreeable 
impression their letters had produced ; and on 
his return to Philadelphia, Mr. ]N'eal wrote, de- 
claring his affection for the brilliant young girl, 
whose ability he had admired and fostered, and 
offering marriage. He was accepted, and the 
wedding-day was fixed in the coming December. 

As the time for the marriage drew near, 
Emily was violently attacked by the disease 
which had so long affected her eyes, and lay for 
some time dangerously ill with erysipelas in the 
head. On learning her danger Mr. ]^eal came 
to Hudson immediately, and remained with her 
till she was able to leave as his wife. 

From this time her eyes were quite well ; 
this violent manifestation of the malady ending 



64 COUSIN ALICE. 

the suffering which, from the time of her third 
year, had been so frequent and so unmanageable. 
At last she could comprehend more nearly than 
ever before " what people call health," though 
she was not even now to know it always, for 
from this time she became a victim to nervous 
headaches, which, while she accounted them 
slight suffering when compared to that she had 
been accustomed to, most persons are willing to 
make an excuse for the indulgences of the in- 
valid. 




CHAPTER Y. 

TEE YOURG WIFE. 

NEW volume of the journal begins 
tlie record of her new life. On 
its first page is a motto from 
Burns, whose significance was 

made plain by the events which followed her 

removal to Philadelphia. 

" Who made the heart, His He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord, its various tone, 

Each spring, its various bias ; 
Then at the balance, let's be naute. 

We never can adjust it, 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But never what's resisted." 

Below this are Mrs. Fry's rules for daily 
living : 

" 1. ITever lose any time. I do not think that lost 
wMcli is spent in amusement or recreation some time 
every day ; but always be in the habit of being employed. 



B6 COUSIN ALICE. 

" 2. Never err the least in truth. 
. " 3. Never say an ill thing of a person when thou 
canst not say a good thing of hira. Not only speak char- 
itably, but feel so. 

" 4. Never be irritable or unkind to any one. 

*' 5. Never indulge thyself in luxuries that are not 
necessary. 

" 6. Do all things with consideration ; and when thy 
path to right action is most difficult, feel confidence in 
the Power which alone is able to assist thee, and exert 
thy own powers' as far. as they go." 



Thus did she begm to hedge up her way to 
the exercise of faulty propensities, and to signify 
the fresh and worthy aims of her life. 

Mr. ISTeal was an only child, and resided with 
his widowed mother. To this home he brought 
his young wife, introducing her to one who was 
to exert no little influence on her mind and 
character. Mrs. !N"eal was about seventy then ; 
but though her fragile form showed the infirmi- 
ties of age, her dignified bearing and her clear 
and vigorous intellect made it plain that such a 
companion must be of unspeakable advantage to 
the daughter-in-law. Scotch by bui;h, as her son 
had said of her, her life from her early wddow- 



THE YOUNG WIFE. Si 

hood had been devoted to the rearing of her son. 
For forty years she had been his best friend and 
adviser. In his literary life she had kept pace 
with him ; she was not only at home in modern, 
literature, but familiar with old English and clas- 
sic stores. A ripe scholar, her mind yet un- 
touched by the blight of age, a severe yet not 
unkindly critic, as elevated as she was clear and 
vigorous — could the young writer have had. a 
better companion, or come under more favorable 
influences ? 

It was a trying ordeal for an inexperienced 
girl, such an entrance into society. Her hus- 
band's friends were naturally men and women 
of cultivated and mature intellects, who had 
their own misgivings of the fitness of a marriage 
of such unequal ages and natures. All were 
kind to the blooming girl who came like sun- 
shine into the quiet household ; all whom nature 
had endowed with a perception of the trials be- 
fore her, and who saw what was hidden from her 
in the future. 

At the request of Mr. l^eal, and his mother 
also, " Alice " became the household name of the 
bride, and known only by this in the circle of 



68 COUSIN ALICE. 

her new friends, and to the public, before whom 
she appeared more frequently now as a writer, 
her real name fell qnite into disuse. She wrote 
so much that first year, that then, and for some 
time after, she used other cognomens for the 
reading world — that of " Clara Cushman " was 
almost as well known as Alice G. Lee. 

It was over this signature that she wrote a 
graceful little story, called " The Chapel Bell." 
She had been saying to Mr. E"eal that imitation 
of the German, and indeed other foreign tongues, 
was less difficult than one imagined. She fan- 
cied she could enter into the spirit of the German 
at least, well enough to deceive the public. He 
bade her try, and the little story which she pre- 
faced with " Translated from the German," was 
the result. How well she succeeded may be in- 
ferred from the fact, that John G. Saxe, struck 
by the poetic beauty of the sketch, turned it into 
rhyme, calling it " a paraphrase from the Ger- 
man." He was not aware that he was under 
any illusion in regard to it, till Alice's brother- 
in-law called attention in his paper to the sketch 
as originally published in " Ideal's Gazette." It 
had then appeare(i in a collection of Mr. S axe's 



THE YOUNG WIFE. 59 

poems, and had been pronounced by a reviewer 
the most poetical in spirit of any thing Mr. Saxe 
had ever written ! 

The poet at once made a courteous and grace- 
ful acknowledgment to Mrs. N'eal of his indebt- 
edness to her, and subsequent editions of his 
poems contain the same acknowledgment in a 
Qote appended to the poem in question."^ 

This and some other things very unlike each 
other in character, were written at her husband's 
suggestion, that she might try her wings. He 
was confident of her ability, and proud of it, and 
his aim was to give it a symmetrical development 
and thorough culture. 

Under date of February 15th, 1847, Alice 
writes in her journal : 

" I know that I was born to do good, and that not in 
a narrow circle. Even my husband does not understand 
this ambition which fills my heart. He says, ' all young 



* " This ballad is a paraphrase of a beautiful prose tale writ- 
ten by !Mrs. Alice B. Neal, and published as a translation * from 
the German.' The story is so extremely * Germanesque ' in its 
style and spirit, that the best scholars in the country did not 
suspect its American origin, till the fact was recently disclosed 
uy a relative of the gifted authoress." 



60 COUSIN ALICE. 

people are ambitious ; it is characteristic of their age.' 
He is mistaken, I trust. This strange impulse for an ex- 
tended sphere of action, which seems at last working to 
an end, is not a childish whim. I am strong, though they 
do not know it — strong aUke for good or evil. It had 
nearly been evil, but, thank God, that mood has departed 
I am learning daily, grasping more and more that is to be 
of use to me in the future : storing material for labor that 
is to come." 

But it was not all work and study. This 
was her first experience of a life whose glimpses 
heretofore had onlj tantalized her. The new 
world of music, opened to her in the opera and 
concert-room, she entered with the zest of a 
first love. Histrionic art fascinated her. The 
brilliant conversation of the clever and culti- 
vated friends of Mr. ITeal, in which he shone so 
preeminently, was always delightful to her. She 
found her husband loved and honored, and her 
pride as well as her love was satisfied. She 
never wearied of watching the impression he 
produced ; her own was always of secondary 
interest. He was a man of delicate mould and 
organization, with sweet and noble features and 
most intellectual head, fair, waving hair, and 



THE YOUNG WIFE. 61 

soft blue eyeg. His voice was low and well- 
modulated; his conversation was distinguislied 
by humor rather than wit. This most winning 
and amiable nature was so well understood gen- 
erally, that, though for thirteen years the editor 
of a leading daily political paper, he might be 
said to be without an enemy in the world ! The 
lash which he was so capable of using, was ap- 
plied with such dexterity and rare judgment, 
that those who suffered were at the same time 
shown their error, and compelled to acknowledge 
that justice had overtaken them. His heart al- 
ways held his pen on the line where judgment 
and mercy met. 

He was, as before their marriage, Alice's 
most competent teacher, and best intellectual 
guide. Her appreciation of this, and her ac- 
knowledgment during all her life of her indebt- 
edness to him, made a tie between them as 
strong and beautiful as the romance of their love. 
She bent herself to improvement with all assi- 
duity, now that opportunity was so rich for it. 
In character her gain was as great as the devel- 
opment was rapid. She combated diligently 



62 COUSIN ALICE. 

with faults, tlie result of nature, and the growth 
of her girlhood's suffering. She writes : 

" My besetting sins now are indolence and irresolu- 
tion. 'I will do so mucli to-morrow, or next week.* 
To-morrow comes and is gone ; week after week passes, 
ajd I am planning rather than executing. My bane has 
always been a consciousness of ability, and impatience of 
feeble results. Thus I am easily discouraged and de- 
spondent. What I have done is a small part of what I 
can do." 

When they had been married three or four 
months Mr. l!Teal had a peculiar illness, resem- 
bling brain fever. There was always danger 
with him, from his delicate physical organizatioUy 
of brain trouble, the mental development being 
very disproportionate. From the prostration of 
the fever he recovered ; and though to the casual 
acquaintance he seemed quite well again, yet 
the balance was never restored. On some sub- 
jects a settled mania continued, and there were 
mtervals when reason was quite unseated. 

How Alice bore herself in this tenible trial, 
must be gathered from two records — one made 
in her journal, and the other in a note addressed 



THE YOUNG WIFE. 63 

by Mr. E"eal to her sister, under date of May 
ISth. She writes : 

" My journal has always been a solace ; may it be so 
now, for truly I have need of a comforter. When I com- 
menced this volume I was full of hope ; a new day, the 
brightest of my life, was dawning. Now it would seem 
as though hope had forever left me. My husband is, I 
fear, incurably insane ; a fate more terrible than my 
imagination could have pictured. God only knows what 
he is suffering. I, his wife, who am with him night and 
day, cannot tell a tithe of the agony which makes him 
weary of hfe. 

" ' It is hard to leave you, my own Alice,' he says ; ' I 
dare not think of the parting with my poor mother. Yet 
would that I might end my despair ; would that I could 
sleep in peace.' 

"And then he reproaches himself for bringing me 
from a happy home to a scene of so much present and 
future misery. In vain I tell him that I have strength 
' to hope all things, suffer all things ; ' that I know he 
will recover. ' Every dark cloud has its silver lining,' 1 
say. This is, perhaps, but the shadow of that dreaded 
*firs#year,' of which we often spoke. 

" 'Poor child,' he replies; 'would to heaven it were 
so for your sake and my poor mother's. Oh, Alice, that 
you should love me so well ! Promise me the day shall 
never come when you will curse my memory, when you 
will say, "he was the destroyer of my peace." ' 



64 COUSm ALICE. 

" My husband ! would to God that I could die fol 
thee ! Perhaps I do not know my own heart, but now I 
feel sure that I could die calmly and happily, did I know 
that my death would restore to him health and hap- 
piness. 

"Most terrible of all — ^none but myself know the 
fatal secret. I must bear my fear and its anguish alone. 

" I knew I was too happy — that some fearful gloom 
was hanging over that bridal — even though my heart 
fainted with excess of joy. 

" I will try to banish this fear. It may be that we 
are both deceived ; that my husband wiU yet be restored 
to me. 

" ' Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.' " 

In the note to his sister-in-law, Mr. IS'eal 

writes : 

''I intend this missive as a humble companion to the 
more extended remarks and observations of my good and 
dear Alice, wishing to say to you that she makes the best 
of wives, and especially as regards good temper, an ac- 
commodating spirit, and very great forbearance, which 
perhaps may a little surprise you, as she has been terri 
bly tried by my affliction, which has been a long, ,pro 
tracted illness of a singular character. Give her credit, 
then, as I do, for the exercise of the most Christian vir- 
tues, and love her more for the bright traits of character 
which trial has educed, perhaps as much to her own sur 
prise as to the gratification of others." 



THE YOUNG WIFE. 65 

Two or three montlis more went by, and tlie 
troubled spirit of Joseph C. I^^eal was at rest. He 
died suddenly, and just as his friends, and even 
himself, had begun to hope that the cloud might 
be lifted, and his mind restored to perfect seren- 
ity. He was quite conscious of his condition 
dm'ing intervals of more or less length ; and, as 
the j)receding extracts have shown, talked of it 
with his wife, and understood and loved her the 
more tenderly for the strength and deepening 
love which his situation created in her. 

But at last the silver cord was loosed ; the 
beautiful mind was no more shrouded in the 
clouds which the suffering body cast over it, and 
the gentle and loving heart lost its pain as it 
grew cold in death. 

The aged mother lost the object of a life's 
devotion ; the young wife, one whom she rever- 
enced and loved with the fervor and romance of 
her age and nature. They clasped their arms 
about each other, and resolved henceforth to 
abide together in the home made sacred to both 
by the memories of their beloved. In their 
agony they were yet not uncomforted. for it 



66 COUSIN ALICE. 

had been made plain to them that his life would 
never again be unclouded, and they knew the 
time might come when they would both covet 
for him the repose of the grave. 




CHAPTER YI. 

THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD. 

'HERE is no record immediately fol- 
lowing Mr. Ideal's death. Alice 
was long recovering from the shock. 
The strain npon her nervous sys- 
tem could not but be severely felt for many 
months, and the bewildering effects of her sud- 
den bereavement were almost paralyzing. But 
the record made. on her next birthday will tell 
the story better : 

"Sept. 13th, 1847. 

" My twentieth birthday, so long looked forward to, 
finds me a childless widow. It is nearly two months 
since my poor husband was laid at rest, free from mental 
suffering ! free from fear of death ! ' He may not come 
to me, but I shall go to him.' 

"Thanks and great glory to the Heavenly Father, 



68 COUSIN ALICE. 

who has given me strength to bear the sharp and won 
derful trials of the past year ; who has given me peace 
of mind and resignation under this severest of earthly af- 
flictions. I, too, should have gone mad if I could not 
have prayed, if I had not the knowledge that He orders 
all things for my good. There seems to be a direct mes- 
sage from Him, to tell me that henceforth my life must 
be devoted to His service. 

"A few days after my husband's death, I entered the 
little study where we had so often read together. The 
Life of Madame Guyon was lying on the table. Scarce 
knowing what I did, I opened it, as the thought came to 
me that this was the last book he had spoken to me about. 
We were, I am grieved to say it, laughing at what we 
thought her fanaticism, as it regarded her faith in special 
interpositions of Providence in her behalf. 

"How kindly, yet how terribly, was God about to 
manifest the truth of this to me ! 

" I opened the book at random, and my eyes fell upon 
a passage that described my feelings exactly. I felt in an 
instant that I was directed to its reading, and I prayed 
that God would receive me as His child, and from that 
moment would mould me to His will. I remembered 
that it was just a year from the hour when I had made a 
similar prayer and resolve. Then I had just heard of 
my poor Louise's death, my first great earthly loss. I 
do think that God has had me in His special keeping 
since that time, I have been led away from my resolve 
by my peculiar position during the past winter, and 



THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD. 69 

have forgotten to love Him, in my absorbing affection 
for my Imsband. But He is long-suffering and williDg 
to forgive. ' Wliom He lovetli He cliasteneth^ and scour g- 
etli every one wliom He receivetli.'' I have been bitterly 
scoui'ged and chastened ; but once more I thank Thee, 
Oh my Father, that Thou hast made me to love Thee, 
and to praise Thee for it forever. 

"I have so many kind friends who love me for my 
husband's sake, I am not left destitute and dependent. 
I have health, strength, and energy to fill the position as- 
signed to me. I am daily fulfilling my husband's dearest 
wishes, doing all in my power to comfort his mother. 
Would that I could do more to fill his place ! and his 
cherished projects will be carried out through my aid. 
His name will live, his examj^le will guide me." 

" Hotel, N'ew Tokk, Sept. 15th. 

" How great a change has the last year wrought in 
me ! How much of life was crowded in its span ! I have 
stood this day upon the spot where he first kissed me in 
acknowledgment of our betrothal. I sat long upon the 
seat to which he led me, and where he placed this ring 
upon my finger to link me to himself. One year ago to- 
day, I met him for the first time, face to face. TVe parted 
as we met, each heart filled with unacknowledged affec- 
tion. Two months from that time, I was here again. I 
loas Ms icife. N'ow I sit here alone and sorrowful ; he is 
laid in his grave, and my bridal dress is exchanged for tho 
garb of the widow." 



10 COUSIN ALICE. 

"Wlien Mrs. JSTeal returned to Philadelpliia, 
it was to begin a life of earnest and self-denying 
effort. Mr. JSTeal's property was embarked in 
tbe paper upon which he was engaged. This 
investment his wife preferred to retain, and she 
became one of the editors of the paper. Before 
this she had written editorials under her hus- 
band's eye ; now she was to act alone. Certain 
departments were assigned to her, and one she 
almost created in its freshened beauty and value. 
The juvenile department, called " The Bird's 
ISTest," had many sweet voices issuing from it 
besides that of " Cousin Alice," as Mrs. ISTeal 
called herself when writing for children. 

Some- of the best female writers of the day 
contributed to the paper. Many of them had 
begun to do so before the death of Mr. jN"eal : 
others were interested in the efforts made by the 
young widow to sustain the reputation of the 
Gazette in all points where she could, and they 
gladly gave her all the aid in their power. Fanny 
Forrester was no longer in this country, having 
been married the year before " Alice Lee " be- 
came Alice Neal ; but " Grace Greenwood," 
who was then making her fame, " Edith May," 



THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD. 71 

" Estelle," Mrs. Eames, Caroline May, of ISTew 
York, the Tntliills, motlier and clangliters, of 
Princeton, and others, some of whom have 
ended their career in the literary world, and 
some departed this life for a better, were the 
friends and co-laborers of Mrs. I^eal. Their 
friendship encouraged her in many an hour of 
despondency, and when she felt the burden be- 
yond her strength, their aid was given lovingly 
and generously. 

In " The Bird's ]^est," several young w^riters 
first dared to let the world hear of them ; and 
some who are now full fledged, were then en- 
couraged and borne up by the unaffected inter- 
est of Alice I^eal. She became the personal 
friend of many a timid young debutante, who 
little dreamed that the warm sympathy she re- 
ceived came from one who was little in advance 
of her in age. 

There was an unusual maturity in what Mrs. 
]N"eal wrote at this time, both in her prose and 
verse. A poem called " The Blind," was com- 
mended, for its uncommon dramatic power, by 
some of the best critics of verse ; and if " poets 
learn in suffering what they teach in song," it 



72 COUSIN ALICE. 

might well have had a startling force and depth. 
Her youth was almost lost sight of in her posi- 
tion ; but this did not expose her literary efforts 
to nnkmdly judgment, and her successes were 
numerous and gratifying. 

During all the excitement of this career, on 
which she had entered with her whole energy, 
and which was at once so brilliant and so trying 
to one of her natm'e and age, Alice never lost 
sight of her noblest ambition. There was nothing 
so fascinated her as the brilliant social life that 
wooed her with its enticements, but there was 
nothing satisfying to her in this, and no praise 
yet touched in her the spring which could over- 
flow her soul with peace. During the autumn 
she writes in her journal : 

" I am strongly acted upon by external influences, 
moved by the emotions of those with whom I converse, 
by word or in books. I have been reading this morning 
the life of Elizabeth Fry, a great and good woman. 
There comes to me again the feeling which has haunted 
me from my earhest childhood, that I am being moulded 
for some noble and holy mission; that I have passed 
through the sea of sorrow and suffering, that my feet may 
be more firm upon the dry land. 

" God has been leading me from the moment of my 



THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD. 73 

birth ; He has given me talents and placed me in a posi- 
tion for their rapid and judicious cultivation. I passed 
years burdened with ill health, and in uncongenial sur- 
roundings. 'The blind has' again 'received sight,' and 
health is added to all other blessings. I yearned to be 
loved, and He gave me the affection of a noble and gen- 
erous heart, the unreserved teaching and confidence of 
one whose nature was unselfish and pure — wise as the 
serpent, harmless as the dove. I wished for literary dis- 
tinction, and even now, v.^hile I am scarce a woman, my 
name is beginning to be heard. 

" He has kindly shown me the emptiness of this world's 
praise, its treachery, and its deceitfulness. He removed 
from me my husband, yet softened the chastisement with 
so much mercy, that murmurs died upon my lips, and 
were turned to praise for His infinite goodness. He was 
a father to the fatherless. He has been my support and 
trust in my early and lonely widowhood. 

"I have felt very. humble and grateful this morning 
in recounting all this, and it has seemed to me that I 
could yield my whole being into His hands to be moulded 
by Him. I have tried to pray in truth, that He would 
receive me as a servant to do His pleasure. Yet I know 
that much of this emotion is simply the enthusiasm of my 
nature, and that soon, perhaps to-morrow, I shall again 
be yielding to pleasure and ambition. I dare not make a 
resolution, I have so often broken the most solemn ; but 
I do pray most humbly that He will assist me in my 
struggle to learn and to perform my duty. 



I4t COUSIN ALICE. 

" I know tliat I am surrounded by temptations on ali 
sides ; my youth, my position, and my ambition for a 
brilliant life, will be constantly leading me away. I do 
not strive suflSciently to learn tbe right, or to fix and 
confirm the basis of my Christian belief. I do not feel 
that emotion which others describe as love to God and 
my Saviour. I am too selfish in my life and in my pray- 
ers. These are confined to my own welfare and that of 
my dearest friends. I do not feel, with the intensity 
which the subject demands, the situation of those who 
are without Christ, and the hope of life eternal. 

" I am wavering in my resolutions to do right, and 
am too easily led by others. I am vain — vain of personal 
attractions and mental endowments. I am given to ex- 
aggeration, and have not a sufficient perception of the 
beauty and holiness of truth. My vanity not only filb 
my mind with trifling thoughts, but gives me a love of 
display and of universal admiration. For a time at least 
let my diary be a beacon, by a weekly record of my 
shortcomings in my attempts to serve my Heavenly 
Father. In His strength, and not in my own, I would 
begin this new life." 

Some weeks later there is another indication 
of her struggle with a fault which she had in 
common with most persons of a vivid imagina- 
tion. Her enthusiasm aided her imagination in 
the coloring she would give in her conversation. 



THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD. '75 

Slie sometimes sav\^ tMngs, she says, as slie would 
liJce to see them ; " and it was very difficult to 
look so steadfastly that the iris-hues would dis- 
appear, leaving only the white light of truth." 
To correct this tendency, she strove against the 
ardor of her nature, encouraging any thing that 
dampened it — welcoming rebuffs even, and re- 
fraining from murmuring when humiliations 
came, as come they do to all who are prominent 
in society, and especially before the public eye. 
Her demerits were never long out of her mind ; 
and the reviews she constantly makes of her 
conduct, and of her motives, could not fail to 
give her a wholesome self-knowledge, by which 
she laid the foundation for the superstructure of 
character which made her later years eminent. 
She says, under date of Oct. 10th : 

" ISTo record last week. It had, as usual, mucli to be 
repented of, and I gained very little, only I liope I am 
getting a greater regard for truth, for my conscience 
checks me, even at the shadow of its opposite. Still I 
romance a great deal. 

" Let it be my care, if ever I have children to train, 
that they are not led into deceit through fear, as I was 
at one period of my life ; and may I never let them know 
that I think the thing possible. Little liar ! How often 



76 COUSIN ALICE. 

do we hear the expression without reflecting on its con- 
sequences." 

Afterwards she writes : 

" The sermon this morning was upon ' the love of 
God.' That is what I do not feel. 

" ' E.,' said I, as we came home from church, ' can 
you understand the meaning of love to God ? ' 

" ' I can,' he said. 

" ' Well, do you think you love God ? ' 

" 'I do,' was his earnest reply. 

" Now, what can be the emotion ? I am thankful to 
my Father in heaven for His daily mercies. I try to yield 
my will to His. I ask, when I pray, that He will make 
me love Him, and do all my duty by Him. But there is 
something to which I cannot attain. It has been the 
enigma of my life ; and when I once feel a devoted lovo 
to God, and to His Son Jesus Christ, then I shall cease to 
doubt that I am His child." 

This record is followed, as are many others 
through all her later journals, by a written 
prayer. In this instance the petition is for hu- 
mility, patience, content, wisdom, and perfect 
sincerity. The simplicity, earnestness, and di- , 
rectness of these forms, which, she says, she found I 
of great service, and used from time to time, \ 
though she generally uttered a spontaneous 



THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD. 11 

and extemporaneous prayer, are very marked. 
Slie was certainly learning to pray in tlie way 
in wliicli she many years after directed a servant. 
She said then : 

" Those who desire to pray acceptably, sometimes feel 
very unliappy because their prayers are not long enough. 
"We must make it familiar to us, for without the help of 
God we are every hour in danger. Those who desire 
much, pray for much : those who are years uttering the 
petition, ^ that which I see not, teach thou me,^ see their 
need of many things which are still hidden from you. 
See that your prayers are sincere, rather than lengthy, 
and as frequent as may be. Some force you must use 
toward natural inclination, for that is not to pray at all ; 
and blessed will you be when you have learned to be 
much in prayer." 

This was her course from the time she began 
in the darkness in which she now found herself, 
to feel her way to the Light. That she stum- 
bled much was not strange ; that sometimes the 
thick darkness appalled and discouraged her, 
was not to be wondered at ; that the inconsist- 
encies of her inner and outer life humiliated her 
continually, was only to be expected. 

On December 12th, her wedding-day anni- 
versary, she writes : 



18 COUSIN ALICE. 

*' The dreaded ' first year ! ' how often we thought- 
lessly used the expression, ends to-day. This was the 
anniversary that was to have been a joy to us both, that 
was to have been kept ' with feasting and gladness.'' The 
first year of marriage would be passed : we should have 
had time to study each other's character, to appreciate 
worth, to correct deficiencies. After this we were to be 
happy forevermore — no clouds in our domestic horizon, 
no discords in our harmony. One year ago I became a 
wife— still a child in years and knowledge. 

" I think a vague presentiment of evil haunted mo 
from our first meeting. I see it as I read over our letters. 
I recall my emotions when married scarcely two months. 
I wrote in this volume a prophecy of the struggle I am 
now undergoing. Little did we think, as I read it over 
to him, how terrible the reality would be. ' You are a 
good child, Alice,' he said. I have just read a precious 
letter, in which he wrote, ' death alone part thee and 
me.' The parting came too soon. God only knows why 
we were deprived* of the happiness looked forward to by 
us both. If itris that my life should be dedicated to His 
service, I pray to be content, and for strength to bear the 
trials I a»^, and constantly shall be, subjected to." 

These trials were sharp indeed ; the record 
of them shows how thorny her life had become 
as soon as she stood alone, nnguided and un- 
guarded. It might well awaken questions of the 



THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD. 79 

purpose God had in view in leading lier tlirougli 
these rough ways. To those who knew her in 
her later years, it was made plain ; to her it was 
mysterious, except as she saw in it the loosening 
of her hold on the world. 



CHAPTEE YII 



EER STRUGGLE. 




iHE SO often alludes to the struggle 
slie was going through, that it may 
be as Well to define it a little more 
clearly. She was very young for 
the place she held before the world, very inex- 
perienced, and considered very charming. Her 
personal atti'actions and her conversational abil- 
ity have already been described : the interest of 
these was heightened by the romance of the 
events which had given her her position. There 
was a rare maturity about her, the result of un- 
common ability and insight; but her tempta 
tions, so fully set forth in her own language, 
brought snares to her path, which only more 
than mortal foresight and prudence could render 
harmless. 



i 



HER STRUGGLE. 81 

A gentleman wlio was one of Mr. Ideal's 
partners, and who was engaged with her in the 
settlement of her husband's affairs, an astute 
man of the world, said afterwards in speaking 
of their connection : 

" Alice N"eal was the most remarkable woman I ever 
met. Young girl as she was at that time, she compre- 
hended the business details laid before her, and showed 
a judgment in regard to them which no other woman I 
ever knew could have shown — I might almost say at any 
age. She was a match for that proverbially close-dealing 
man, ' a Philadelphia lawyer.' She would have made an 
admirable lawyer herself." 

!N'otwithstanding the impression made by her 
clear, strong mind, it was inevitable that youth 
and inexperience should make some grievous 
mistakes ; but taking counsel in all things of her 
husband's mother, and regarding as paramount 
to every thing her husband's interests and repu- 
tation, she was able to show much wisdom and 
judgment in the administration of his affairs. 
Upon her fair young shoulders came the burden 
which had fallen from his. Her friends looked 
on in astonishment that she did not sink beneath 

it. In her need she rallied all the strength she 
4* 



82 COUSIN ALICE. 

was conscious of possessing; and those who 
looked to see lier faint and fail beneath accumu- 
lated difficulties, saw instead the resolute oppo- 
sition to every encroachment of despair, the 
steadfast determination, based in her simple reli- 
ance upon the source of all strength and courage, 
" to endure unto the ' end^'' and accomplish the 
work that was given her to do. 

ISTo words could do more justice to the prin- 
ciples which were now so plainly operating on 
her daily life, than those which we quote from 
an article written by one who knew her as in- 
mately as a person can be known, reviewing the 
course of a life so beneficent in its results. 

" Eew even of those who knew her inthnatelj, com • 
prehended the trials and struggles, the privations and 
temptations which she met and overcame. The natural 
tendency of her temperament was ease-loving and self- 
indulgent. She had a keen enjoyment of all beautiful 
and luxurious things, a taste for social pleasures, and a 
perfectly natural consciousness of the admiration which 
her beauty and vivacity never failed to elicit. Yet with 
all this, to tempt her away from the path of self-denial 
and sacrifice which she had chosen, the instances in 
which she swerved from it are few and far between ; 
while the records of her self-forgettins: labors for others 



HER STRUGGLE 83 

come in troops. That one and another might be supplied 
with needed comforts, she denied herself every thing hut 
the simplest necessaries, and much that would have been 
considered indispensable by a majority of judges. Her 
dress, her table, the furnishing of her house, every per- 
sonal surrounding, evinced the same principle of economy 
in opposition to natural tastes ; but in spite of the rigid 
simplicity enforced, there was about all an air of grace 
and refinement, which was perfectly inseparable from 
her, and with which every thing she touched was at once 
invested. 

" This subtle attribute was one of her chief charms : 
those who knew her sufficiently to appreciate the deli- 
cate shades of her character, will recognize it readily, 
and remember how all-pervading it was." 

There are many who will recall with pleas- 
ure the rooms in their house in Seventh street, 
where assembled from time to time her hus- 
band's friends and her own, and her admirers, 
for some there were whose professions of admir- 
ation had little of friendship in them, as we 
shall see. 

In the drawing-room, at the window farthest 
from the entrance, was seated Mr. N'eal's mother ; 
after a certain hour in the morning that high- 
backed, morocco-covered easy chair Was rarely 



84 COUSIN ALICE. 

vacant. Beside lier on the deep window seat, 
and about lier on chairs and small tables, were 
the latest papers and reviews, American and 
foreign, giving this remarkable old lady intelli- 
gence of a world in which her interest was as 
fresh as it had been fifty years before. The 
Italian clock on the table kept no better time 
than Mrs. Neal in her daily routine, nor to the 
casual visitor seemed more mechanical. But a 
quick eye and a fine sense of propriety lay be- 
neath this calm demeanor, and nothing that oc- 
curred was lost upon her, as Alice flitted about, 
or her visitors came in and went out. 

There were pictures on the walls, books and 
pictures on the tables, an open piano, a shaded 
lamp — everywhere articles of virtu^ in keeping 
with the tastes and pursuits of the two ladies, 
and the marked individual air which their sur- 
roundings always possessed. 

Opening from this large room was a smaller 
one — the attractive library and study, with its 
rows of choice books on the shelves, occupying 
one side of the room, the etagere also filled with 
books, but crowned by a tiny work basket, show- 
ing that the habitual occupant of the room was 



HER STRUGGLE. 85 

a woman, and a disposition of easy chairs and 
liassocks, which was always inviting. The pa- 
pers on the table beside the open desk were al- 
ways in the nicest order ; the weights and clasps 
everywhere abont the room held no ill-assorted 
and carelessly-arranged treasures ; every thing 
was exquisitely neat and truly feminine. A few 
pictures and ornaments were gracefully disposed 
about the apartment, a vase of flowers usually 
found place on some table or stand; but the 
room took its character from its book shelves, 
and its occupant, who sat writing generally on a 
little footstool, her portfolio in her lap, and her 
Bible on the chair beside her, indicating to a 
close observer what always preceded her morn- 
ing's work. 

Miss Leslie, whose fame was of years' stand- 
ing, was a very sincere friend of the young 
writer, giving her always the advantage of her 
experience and shrewd observation. It was an 
event in Alice's life when she made the ac- 
quaintance of the author of " The Atlantic 
Tales," which had been one of the favorite books 
of her childhood. A clear-sighted and society- 
trained old lady as she was, Miss Leslie, with 



86 COUSIN ALICE. 

her keen insiglit and iier wise counsels, was a 
friend with whom intercourse never lost its zest 
for Alice. Tears of life abroad, association with 
eminent literary persons and artists in England 
and in this country, the artistic training which 
Charles Leslie's sister would be likely to have, 
the philosophical development which was the 
natural tendency of her mind, and which the 
sister-in-law of Henry Carey had opportunity 
to cultivate, xjombined with her native shrewd- 
ness to make Miss Leslie's friendship an untold 
advantage to one who was finding material for 
her work in the same channels, though using it 
60 differently. Mr. Carey, of whom we have 
spoken, was very kind to the young aspirant ; 
Dr. John Haii:, a fine scholar and good critic, 
admired and praised her ; Mrs. Peters, the ac- 
complished wife of the British Consul, a lady of 
taste, culture, literary association, and social 
preeminence, served her with friendship and 
warm interest ; indeed all were her friends, in 
the literary circles of the city, who were capable 
of appreciative and disinterested friendship. 

But there was a shaded side to this fair pic- 
ture. That Alice Neal was young and admired. 



HER STRUGGLE. 87 

was enoiigli to make tlie malignant and envious 
critical. Her success was bitter to some — the 
admiration she excited in society, to others. 
There were plenty who would flatter her, and 
malign her with equal fervor, and she had, in 
her inexperience, no test by which to try them. 
There were some who were older adepts in social 
life, who appealed to her love of pleasure, and 
lured her by temptations to frivolity, that they 
might gratify their own contemptible baseness 
of nature, which would have looked coolly, if 
not complacently, on the havoc they might have 
made with her happiness or reputation. 

She frequently visited IsTew York, where her 
only brother now resided, and became acquaint- 
ed while there with Miss Lynch, Ann S. Std*- 
2)hens, Mrs. Seba Smith, and others belonging 
to the literary cliques which these wiiters repre- 
sented. Such associations with those to whom, 
as a school-gu'l, she had looked up with the def- 
erence their genius inspired, was perfectly de- 
lightful to her. The excitement of these visits 
was great, and to her youth, and the self-enforced 
severity of her life, not always wholesome. 

In one of these visits she overheard, at a social 



88 COUSLV ALICE. 

party, a remark whicli opened her eyes to the 
baseness from whicli a love of gossip springs, and 
to wMcli it leads. Her own name was used in 
a manner which startled and wounded her. In 
the strength of the pain she suffered, she at once 
resolved to court an investigation, which should 
enable her to define her position, secure her 
standing, and sustain herself. The record of her 
conversations with those whom she had consid- 
ered her friends, is most pathetic, when we re- 
member that a young, warm-hearted woman, 
almost a child still, had thus to take up her own 
cause. She traced the falsehoods to their sources ; 
in some cases it was to remarks made about her 
by those in whose protestations of friendship she 
had trusted, and to whom she had yielded her 
confidence. In a conversation of some hours 
with such a person, who finally dropped the veil 
and allowed herself to be seen in her true colors, 
Alice learned unsuspected lessons of life, and the 
vanity of social distinctions and professions. She 
saw how treacherous had been the quicksands 
which, in her ignorance, she had mistaken for 
the solid land, and how narrow her escape, which 
Bhe regarded with unfeigned thankfulness. This 



HER STRUGGLE. 89 

most prominent failure was not tlie only one she 
had to face ; and she might have been sick at 
heart, with all her philosophy and courage, if 
some had not borne the ordeal and proved them- 
selves true and noble. But it would seem from 
the record, though Alice herself left the impres- 
sion unwillingly or unconsciously, that some of 
these even had been wanting in the moral cour- 
age, which is one of the most prominent ele- 
ments of a worthy friendship. 

It is a matter of wonder to all true-hearted 
people, how a friend can see another, whom she 
might influence and guide, to whom her wisdom 
and experience would be untold treasures, drift- 
ing on the rocks that lie unsuspected beneath the 
smiling sunshine, and in the summer seas. If 
the whole story of this period of trial could be 
given in the simple and touching words in which 
Alice has recorded it — " for a beacon," she says, 
"to myself" — it would be a potent rebuke to 
the selfish and cold-hearted, no less than to the 
false and malignant. The world is full of those 
whose calm natures and narrow souls are never 
tempted over the line of propriety, and whose 
sharp eyes are ready to detect the first footste]) 



90 COUEIN ALICE. 

beyond it, wliile their souls are filled Y\^itli a vir- 
tuous indignation, " wliicli points the moral and 
adorns the tale," with which they are so ready. 
They forget the new commandments our Saviour 
gave, and remember only the severity of the law 
which has appalled them into virtuous lives. 
Loyalty, tenderness, and charity are as unknown 
to them as the propensities which they criticize 
with so much zest. 

And, besides these virtuous souls, are the in- 
efficient who shrink from the exertion, the cau- 
tious who will not interfere, or are afraid to 
commit themselves by counsel; and those of 
still colder natm'es, who watch with curious eyes 
the mental and moral processes they do not care 
to interrupt. Alice, earnest, ardent, courageous, 
and demonstrative, was a fine subject for such 
critical review and examination. 

She shrunk from no test, however painful, in 
the search for truth upon which she had entered. 
It cost her her trust in some whom, in her igno- 
rance of their nature, she had counted friends. It 
cost her an agony of anxious effort and suspense, 
and an amount of courage which proved the sin- 
cerity of her pui'pose. It cost her humiliation 



HER STRUGGLE. 91 

and heart-sinking, but it brouglit her treasures, 
wisdom tliat one can only learn after such ex- 
penditure ; a knowledge of human nature, which . 
is only acquired by such opportunities ; a power 
of self-restraint, which brought back some of the 
reserve of her younger years ; and some friends, 
whom she could henceforth trust tlirough all her 
life, however varied its course. 

She saw how she had been misled by the 
ignis fatuus of worldly friendships, how she had 
mistaken flattery for appreciation, professions for 
worth and honor ; she saw herself misrepresent- 
ed and blamed where she knew her motives had 
been pure and worthy, for her very good was 
evil-spoken of, and a weaker nature would have 
succumbed to the fierceness of the attack. 
But to her this was a seed-sowing from which 
the world reaped a harvest of sweet counsel^ am^d 
a wisdom divine in its charity, Well might she 
say of herself, that she passed through deep wa- 
ters, that her feet might be firm upon the dry 
land. 

" Never," she writes, " was the goodness of God more 
manifest in aU tlie dealings which my life shows. It was 
very Tiard ; no one can ever know what I suffered. I saw 



92 COUSm ALICE. 

how a careless word or action had sufficed for a founda- 
tion for their ill report ; how often, in the simple con- 
sciousness of my integrity, I had been rash, and had 
so appeared defiant in action ; how my vanity had some- 
times betrayed me ; and iny very freedom from the faults 
I encountered in others, had made me as unguarded as I 
was unsuspicious. Conventionahties often originate in 
narrowness and pettiness, but they are respectable as 
safeguards. I have learned to hold these at their true 
value in losing much simple faith. I understand, how- 
ever, these lines in ' The Lost Bower ' : 

* Some respect to social fictions 
Hath been also lost by me; 
And some generous genuflexions, 
Which my spirit ofiered free, 
To the pleasant old conventions of our false Humanity.' " 

In her journal, under date of July 9tli, 1848, 
she writes : 

" As this is the Sunday preceding the solemn anniver- 
sary of my husband's death, and, as I solemnly trust, of 
my spiritual birth, I have resolved to commence a review 
of my first year of widowhood, knowing no fitter prep- 
aration for that sad day of fasting and of prayer. I 
know the record will convict me of much that will be 
bitter in recollection, as weU as wrong in commission. 

" First, with regard to my spiritual progress : let me 
look back and trace from the hour of my renewed dedi- 



HER STRUGGLE. 93 

cation to God, all that has had any influence on my pro- 
fession as a Christian. 

" At first there was a constant struggle with fearful 
recollections of the past, anxieties for the future, and pres- 
ent suffering. I depended too little on the grace of God, 
too much on my individual strength." 

Then with a review of some of the trials which 
have been recorded, she says : 

" And so I prayed for true friends, and in answer to 
my prayer I found Mrs. T. and her daughters, who have 
heen my best help in my religious life, who have coun- 
selled, warned, and comforted me. Mrs. M. has done 
battle for me with some disposed to be malignant, and 
Mr. and Mrs. P. have told me of my faults and given me a 
sister's care. 

" Early in the spring I paid brother a visit. Once 
more I grew heedless and thoughtless. It was in Lent 
when I had solemn thoughts with regard to my duty of 
joining the visible Church of Christ. I could not feel 
that I was a Christian, although I was trying to act 
rightly ; but I tried feebly, and I could not resolve to 
give up the pomp and vanity of the world. 

" At the commencement of Lent, my friend C. T. 
passed a morning in my study. She spoke to me of my 
many temptations, and asked my conscience if I would 
not be safer in the church. I had no acquaintance with 
my rector, and no acquaintances with the exception of 



94 COUSIN ALICE. 

my friend's family, who could at all encourage me in 
' well doing.' I listened in silence, but resolved the next 
day to discover myself to Mr. Odenheimcr, the Rector of 
St. Peter's, where I had attended church since Joseph's 
death. 

" On that day, after the homily had been read, I lin- 
gered in the pew, while a sense of suffocation came over 
me. I saw an acquaintance cross the church, and speak 
to Mr. Odenheimer ; with sudden resolution I joined 
them. Our rector smUed pleasantly as I approached, 
and seemed surprised when he found that Mrs. l!f eal was 
before him. 

"I told him all. I poured out my doubts and my 
wishes. He listened kindly and attentively ; he ' did not 
wish me to enter the Episcopal Church, unless I was fully 
decided in all points of its faith,' and he encouraged me 
to go on in ' well doing.' The worst effect of the morn- 
ing's conversation was that my vanity was stimulated, I 
began to think that I was doing well, and it made me re- 
solve to pray against xain glory, 

" In the winter, when first praying to know my work 
in the vineyard, an opportunity offered for me to take a 
Bible class in a Moyamensing Mission School. The girls 
were from a lower class in society, profoundly ignorant, 
and I should even have said uninteresting. Gradually I 
came to love them, and to look forward to meeting them 
weekly with pleasure. I have them still under my charge, 
but I sometimes fear that I am a blind leader of the blmd. 



HER STRUGGLE. 95 

For those I pray that I may be able to watch for their 
souls, as one who must give account. God grant that it 
be not a fearful rendering." 

And here comes fhe sharp introspection wliicli 
followed a second visit to 'Eew York that year, 
the memorable visit which has been spoken of. 
In finishing her account of the ordeal she passed 
through, she says : 

" \ consider that God is answering my prayer for hu- 
mility, l)ut in a way that I had not expected. 

" On the whole, I trace a little improvement ; I hum- 
bly acknowledge my backslidings, with much neglect of 
duty ; and I confess that wherein I have attained, it has 
been in the Divine strength." 

She records a visit paid by Mr. Neal's mother, 
his cousin, 'and herself, to her husband's grave at 
Laurel Hill, and says : 

"So ends the anniversary of Joseph's death. The 
first milestone of my life is left behind. I am thankful 
for the pause beside it, for the struggle of the year, and 
for the calm which it has brought. May this coming 
year have a better record. 

** Lead me not into temptation, 
But deliver me from evil." 



CHAPTER YIIT. 

THE TENOR OF HER LIFE IN~ rEJLADELPniA. 



^'E the autumn of 1848 Alice ITeal again 
'^ visited IN'ew York. She speaks of 




meeting many of the literary people 
•with whom she had had so much 
agreeable intercourse in the spring. But she 
was becoming disenchanted, learning to distin- 
guish true from false friends, and to estimate 
rightly the meretricious brilliancy of much of 
the social life which had been so fascinating to 
her, when it terminated the vista into which her 
girlhood had looked. 

Some of the friends made during this year 
were friends for lifetime; they were those 
whose Christian principles made them not " of 
the world " in which they moved. There was 



TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 97 

already visible in Alice tlie ennobling influence 
of lier new life ; and she now began to interest 
and attract those who recognized her" earnest- 
ness, and her serious idea of life, about which 
were twining the graces of a religious character. 
One dear friend, whose letters she kept very 
choicely, and whose gift of a " Bogatsky " she 
gratefully acknowledges, was of service to her in 
many ways ; her very life of devotedness, of the 
sublimest self-sacrifice, of cheerfulness under the 
sharpest trials, and courage when the unaided 
human spirit would inevitably have given way, 
and trailed its pinions in the dust ; all this was to 
Alice's sympathizing and appreciative nature a 
lesson of might, and strengthening, reminding her 
that she, too, " might make her life sublime." 
She often said, when speaking with those who 
knew the recesses of this -strong, rich inner life, 
that she could not fitly express her acknowledg- 
ment to that friend who so unconsciously taught 
and so nobly enforced her lessons. 

In the latter part of the year, learning that 
Bome near and beloved friends and relations were 
going to California, then a new world, where 
life was beset with perils, she went over to N'ew 



98 COUSIN ALICE. 

York to give tliem " bon voyage," and up to 
Hudson in a violent snow storm, because slie 
tliougbt slie miglit be some comfort to those left 
alone by tbis departure. It was ber peculiarity, 
tbat tbougb very sensitive to weatber-cbanges, 
and feeling intensely and pervadingly tbe influ- 
ence of tbe sullen or tbe stormy east wind, or 
tbe despondency brougbt by tbe warm south- 
west, sbe was never deterred by fierce wind, or 
driving storm, from tbe accomplishment of any 
purpose which sbe might have in ber mind. 
Indeed, when the violence of the weather 
amounted to an obstacle, it was sure to rouse in 
ber those qualities with which sbe was always 
ready to confront^" ^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^®^ path." 

Tbe principl'^^ y^^^^y ^^^ coming now to be 
tbe spur of her life, and it made her indomitable. 
Tbe records of the resolute manner in which sbe 
henceforth performed all duties, especially those 
toward the sorrowing and comfortless, would fill 
this volume, if such a record had been kept. 
But little is known of this, except such instances 
as abide in the hearts of those she served, or in 
tbe memories of those to whom accident revealed 
the secrets of a life " spent in bearing the bur- 



TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 99 

dens of others." Her journal lias rarely even a 
casual mention of such service. As an intimate 
friend said of her years after — " the right hand 
could not know what the left was doing," so del- 
icately and privately were her self-denials, sa- 
crifices, and charities performed. • 

It was while she was in ]JTew York, at this 
time, that she made the acquaintance of Mr. 
Haven, in whom she became interested, at first, 
from the circumstance that he also was just leav- 
ing for California. He was at once one of her 
admirers ; but this was not noticeable, for these 
seemed to spring up in troops wherever she 
alighted. But before he sailed, the acquaint- 
ance had taken a warmer character, and she had 
been induced to partially respond to his feeling, 
and to give him a promise to correspond with 
him wliile he should remain in California. He 
was not a religious man, and her gift to him at 
parting of a well-marked Bible, was very char- 
acteristic. 

- The engagement into which they entered 
was so partial, and so entirely private, that she 
returned to Philadelphia, and her life went on 



100 COUSm ALICK 

as before, this interest sending no visible ripple 
over its surface. 

Soon after this, Eeacl the artist was engaged 
to illustrate a volume of " Female Prose Writ- 
ers," which Professor Hart was to edit. A crayon 
drawilig was made of Alice, which was engraved 
in London, and which, with others, adorns that 
volume. It is an idealized picture, but to those 
who saw the spiritual lineaments, the most sat- 
isfactory picture that is left of her. 

In speaking of her in this volume. Professor 
Hart says, in reference to her life with her hus- 
band's mother: 

"To this excellent woman, now seventy-two years of 
age, with a filial love like that of Ruth to Naomi, she 
has said, ^ I will never leave thee 7ior foj'saJce thee.'' Since 
the death of Mr. ISTeal, the two ladies have continued to 
live together, the younger gracefully acknowledging the 
rich stores of experience, the varied reading, the fine 
tastes, and judicious counsels of her aged companion, 
which have more than compensated for her own more 
active exertions. 

" Mrs. Neal is one of our youngest writers, and what 
is of most favorable omen, shows, in her writings, con- 
stant signs of improvement. In the language of a con- 
temporary critic, who writes on this subject con amorCy 



TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 101 

and whose opinion we make our own, ' Her poetry has 
more matm-ity than her prose, for the gift of song comes 
to the hard as to the bird, direct from heaven. Polish 
and metrical correctness may be added to genuine poetry, 
but it is doubtful whether the fount be not as pure and 
sparkling at its first gush, as when quietly flowing on in 
a deeper stream. E!rs. JSTeal's prose contributions are 
continually improving, and the knowledge which, with 
uncommon industry, she is constantly acqumng, will en- 
large her sphere of thought and illustration ; and better 
yet, the religious tenor of her writings shows she is 
guarded by principle, which will strengthen her intellect, 
and make her in after years an ornament and a blessing 
to our land.' " 

The reference made by the Professor to tiio- 
relation existing between Mrs. l^eal and herself, 
is gracefully alluded to in a sonnet which she . 
used as a dedication to the book, bearing the 
title of " The Gossips of Rivertown." This was 
in two volumes, and the second was chiefly com- 
posed of stories and poems — =the only collection 
of the kind she ever made, though she might 
have filled many volumes in this way. 

" The Gossips of Eivertown " is the only 
book she could ever wish unpublished. The 
feeling in which it originated has been explained 



102 COUSm ALICE. 

in a former chapter ; and years after its publi- 
cation slie tried to purchase the plates and sup- 
press the work, because of the personalities in it 
into which she so sincerely regretted having been 
betrayed. It is the only record wliich shows 
what control she needed to exercise over her 
perception of the ludicrous, and her remarkable 
power of sarcasm. She was so humiliated, how- 
ever, as she became conscious of the indulgence 
in which she had allowed herself, that she had 
no satisfaction in the very decided " cleverness " 
she Rhf)wed, and of which, as well of the other 
traits me^itioned, there is no other striking evi- 
jieiTfce. She always spoke of it with pain and 
mortification. The sonnet alluded to should not 
be lost, however : 

" As Ruth of old wrought in her kinsman's field, 
From the uneven stubble, patiently- 
Gathering the corn, full hands had lavished free, 

Nor paused from wind or sun her brow to shield — 
So have I gleaned where others boldly reap ; 

Their sickles flashing in the ripened grain, 

Their voices swelling in the harvest strain. 
Go on before me up the toilsome steep. 

And thus I bind my sheaf at eventide, 
For thee, my more than mother ; and I come 
Bearing my burden to the quiet home. 

Where thou didst welcome me, a timid bride ; 
Where now thy blessed presence, day by day, 
Cheereth me onward in a lonely way." 



TENGR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 103 

The time was coming wlien Alice had re- 
solved to disclose to the world her religions 
standpoint ; and we find the following entry in 
her journal : 

" A bright and beautiful Sabbath, yet I indulged in 
indolence ; and as I was preparing for church in a gust of 

passion, , as usual, the provocation " (alluding to a 

person in the family who was a great trial to her), "my 
mind would wander in prayer. It is the third Sunday be- 
fore Lent ; at the close of that solemn fast, I hope to be a 
member of the Church of God. Let me remind myself of 
the necessity for increased watchfulness, lest by any 
means I be drawn again into the world I have so nearly 
renounced. Let me prepare for extraordinary temp- 
tations. 

" I had some of my Sunday-school class present this 
morning. I hope I am thankful for this, the more that 
they seemed interested in the subject of the lesson, which 
was prayer. Through a remark of one of the girls, I saw 
more plainly than ever, the evil of letting the thoughts 
wander in prayer. I proposed to her as I have to my- 
self, the habit of praying aloud, from which I have al- 
ways shrunk. I tried to pray for them on my return 
home, as well as for S. and T. and my brother. Let me 
choose these, with my class, as subjects of earnest and 
special prayer for the year." 

" lU, but worked on ; a visitor came in, and I was not 



104 COUSIN ALICE. 

as careful as I must be ; I must not trifle, even by a look. 

If ever I overcome tliis great fault of my life, I shall feel 

as if a victory was won." 

" 1th Feb. 

" Visitors all the morning — Mrs. Hale, Judge K., ' Kate 
Campbell,' Mrs. K., 0. M. Then a music lesson. I have 
tried to tJiinTc in aU this whirl ; I have so many inter- 
ruptions." 

''iWiFeJ). 

"I had an excellent class. I feel encouraged. Oh 
that I may do my whole duty to these dear girls! I do 
think my mind wanders less in prayer, and that I am able 
to pray more earnestly. Let me remember to watch as 
well as pray." 

Slie then goes on to speak of the impression 
produced upon her mind, when coming from 
church, by meeting group after group, some of 
them evidently " taking sweet counsel together, 
as they came fi'om " the House of God in com- 
pany," while she walked on solitary and lonely. 
She certainly found little encouragement amongst 
her habitual associates, to lead the elevated spir- 
itual life to which she aspired, and which alone 
seemed to promise her satisfaction and peace. 

She had another source of discomfort now — 
it was in remembering her promise to Mr. Haven, 
and the anticipation that the consummation of 



TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 105 

her engagement, whenerer it might come, would 
oblige her t(^ leave Mrs. JSTeal. She tries to allay 
the feeling of disturbance, by reminding herself 
that it is too far in the future for her to suffer 
real distress, as she could not fail to do, if she 
expected soon to leave her to whom all the re- 
membrance of her husband, " her best friend," 
as she never failed to consider him, bound her. 
Years at least were before her, during which she 
might remain with the desolate mother. To 
comfort and brighten that lonely life, she was 
willing, while her strength held out, to encoun- 
ter toil and privation, if necessary. There were 
many satisfactions in her life ; there was pleas- 
ure in the appreciation she received, in the hon- 
est friends she culled from the many proffer- 
ing friendship, in the aid she could afford to 
young writers, and in the substantial assistance 
she was able, through the increasing remunera- 
tion her pen brought her, to extend to those who 
were in need. She had not yet grown weary in 
her routine of life ; but if the prospect of an- 
other sometimes flashed over her mind, where 
she would be guarded by a sheltering love, is it 

wonderful that, storm-beaten as she had been, 
5* 



106 , COUSIN ALICE. 

and as she might be again, she should begin to 
dream of refuge and rest ? ^ 

In addition to the stories, editorials, and 

poems that came constantly from her tireless 

pen, she wrote " Helen Morton's Trial," a story 

of a child's temporary blindness, which could 

not but be touchingly graphic, when she knew 

so well " that of Avhich she affirmed." At the 

suggestion of her rector, she submitted it for 

approval to Bishop Henshaw, of Rhode Island. 

The Bishop wrote very kindly and approvingly 

about it, for which she was most grateful. This 

was the first of a series of books suitable for 

Sunday-school use, containing the history of 

Helen Morton, and, with its companions, was 

destined to great popularity, not only in the 

Episcopal families which it reached through 

their publication society, but wherever pure and 

earnest religious teaching for children was valued. 

Among her papers was found a letter from a 

stranger, evidently a lady of culture as well as 

of piety, asking that a fourth volume should be 

added to the series, carrying Helen's life, with 

• ts lessons, still further. 

She planned also a volume of religious poetry, 



TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 107 

collected from different sources, wMcli she called 
"Sabbatli Cliimes;" but some untowardness 
prevented its publication. Sbe also planned, to 
be executed by herself, a series of poems, to be 
entitled " Thoughts in Lent." 

These holy days of the church were always 
of peculiar interest to her. The spirit of this 
institution especially appealed to her. She 
prized all the associations, all "the means of 
grace " which each season brought. There was 
only delight and comfort in the opportunities 
afforded her for church-going, for freedom from 
secular cares ; and through all her life we find 
her giving herself for this Lent or that, special 
subjects to be remembered constantly in sup- 
plication. 

" 3farch 25th. 

" One week from this morning is our Confirmation. 
I do earnestly pray that I may he in a proper spirit to 
receive the rite. I am so near the Zoar of the Church, 
God keep me from looking hack, and afterwards give me 
strength ' to escape to the mountains.'' The past week I 
have endeavored to set a watch upon the door of my 
lips, hut have continually forgotten my aim. This shall 
be renewed for the week to come." 



108 COUSIN ALICE. 

Having made up lier mind to become a com- 
municant at St. Peter's, slie thought it her duty 
to work in its Sabbath-school, which would make 
it necessary to give up her class in the mission 
school. This was a painful thing to do, as she 
had grown to be much interested in her pupils. 
She informed the clergyman, who had charge of 
the mission, of her intention, and in a long con- 
versation acquainted him with the circumstances 
and state of mind of each scholar. 

ITow comes a record of the day of her con- 
firmation, and the Bishop's address written down 
with her usual accurate memory of all she heard. 
She had not intended to partake of the commu- 
nion till Easter, but she felt constrained to do so 
on this day. 

The parting with her class was painful to all 
— the scholars weeping bitterly ; nor could she 
restrain her own tears. 

She recounts with much gratitude, that there 
was no opposition made in the family to the step 
she was taking, but that she was treated with 
uncommon kindness and consideration by them. 

""May Gth. 

" My first Sunday as teacher at St. Peter's. I have a 



TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 109 

very interesting class, and like it better than the missioi 
school. I sat with my little people in church ; they be*^ 
haved well, and we are on the best of terms. I do believe 
I was intended ' to feed the Lambs.' God grant that I ad- 
minister no poison with the 'sincere milk of the 
Word.'" 




CHAPTER IX. 

HER LIFE m PHILADELPHIA. 

IFE was taking on sterner aspects for 
Alice IN'eal with every new year. 
One by one tlie delusions with 
which she had begun it were fad- 
ing into " the light of common day." "Where she 
had found one worthy friend, she had proved two 
false, envious women and men whose disinter- 
estedness was only on the lip, if even its pretence 
was found about them. Their never large income 
grew smaller, and Alice toiled all the more in- 
defatigably, and sought at every avenue a chance 
of success. 

L. A. Godey, Esq., of the "Lady's Book," 
" a gentleman amongst publishers," as a cynical 
writer once called him, when speaking of the 
difficulty writers often found in getting paid for 



HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. Ill 

their contributions to onr periodical literature, 
had been a friend of Mr. E^eal and his interest 
in the young widow was always of the sincerest 
and noblest sort. Seeing her efforts, he gave 
her the encouragement of an offer for regular 
contributions to the pages of his magazine, and 
placed an editorial department under her control. 
Besides this engagement, she sent off stories and 
poems in every direction, working on her own 
paper meanwhile with the greatest assiduity. 
She increased the economy which already marked 
her personal expenditure, while the comforts of 
the house remained unabated, and the number 
of those who were more or less her pensioners 
increased rather than diminished. 

Her suffering from attacks of headache be- 
came greater ; her strength was less, and the at- 
tacks more numerous and prostrating ; no great, 
excitement or fatigue could pass without this 
penalty being incurred. She resisted the ener- 
vating tendency of such suffering with positive 
heroism — passing few days where work was not 
the rule, rest the exception. 

Her spiritual life was characterized by dis- 
couragements arising from a sharp sense of her 



112 COUSIN ALICE. 

failures m her efforts to overcome faults, and by 
renewed energy in lier endeavors. A friend, 
one of the very few who were admitted to the 
penetralia of her soul, writes of her in referenct 
to her course at this time : 

"TVith her sweet playfulness, her outspoken variable 
feeling, her quick perception alike of the ludicrous, the 
noble, and the good, her character was most fitted to en- 
courage those who, struggling with the impulsiveness 
and excitability almost inseparable from delicacy of health 
and organization, often feel as if, in their very temper- 
ament (to those who misunderstand it), there is apparent 
inconsistency with their deep and serious spiritual per- 
ceptions and aims." 

That she never gave up effort, under the in- 
fluence of any discouragement, temporal or spir- 
itual, was her distinguishing trait, and the secret 
of her final success. That the rebound was al- 
ways in proportion to the depression, showed 
the elastic power of her mind and the firmness 
of her underlying principle. She more and 
more excluded pleasures from her life, and bent 
to her toil. She writes years afterwards : 

" I cannot trust myself to speak of the racking, dizzy 
headaches which would follow a restless night of wild 



HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 113 

plans to get money ^ monej, not for myself — my wants 
grew less all the time, with the narrowing of my personal 
ambition — but for those whom I found I could aid, for 
the comfort of those I loved, as I was finding out, better 
than myself, for those whom God's providence was bring- 
ing into the line of my life. In a great measure, I tried 
to write first and find a market afterwards. I had three 
bitter and cruel (then cruel) disappointments before Mr. 
Appleton began to publish for me, or Mr. Godey had 
made my contributions monthly. You do not know, no 
one can ever know, the pecuniary struggle, close and 
sharp, of those two years. I stinted myself in every 
thing. Once to those who might, I thought, have shared 
one burden with me, my self-righteousness disclosed it- 
self in a letter, which I have been ashamed of ever since. ■ 
" From that moment I left off saying, ' Lord, what 
shall this man do ? ' I said instead, ' Lord^ I tliank thee 
tliat thus far I hate leen able to do. Do not punish me 
ly leaving me to sit idle and see any wa7it. If I ought to 
have help in the work I have undertaken, put it int9 the 
hearts of others, and provide them the way ; if not, let 
me rest content that it is my duty, not theirs.' I have 
prayed that others might be spared trials in life. As He 
put the desire and prayer into my mind, so He has placed 
the power into my hands to avert these trials in some 
cases. He has in many ways prospered me abundantly, 
and has granted me so many of my prayers, that I have 
learned to put away care for the future, and live almost 
entirely in the present ; and then I have such a blessed 



114 COUSIN ALICE. 

trust for what time I am afraid as I remember the past, 
that now I am not conscious of anxiety for any thing. 
As some one said in a book I was reading recently, ' In 
looking back, even I do not see where the struggle has 
been.' " 

At tliis same time, writing to a person wlio 
was seeking a pnblislier in vain, slie says : 

"I think I see the wisdom of the returned story. 
Success would have tempted you beyond your strength ; 
besides, what time and strength you do have, God may 
have consecrated ' to a vessel oflionor^^ and He would not 
suffer you to waste on trifling stories what He calls for in 
His especial service. I feel this about you. I have done 
so ever since you took up your pen in earnest. I have 
always felt, when I was met so distinctly by a rebuff, 
that there was an angel in the way, though I could not 
see it there, and I ceased to beat the poor beast that re- 
fused to carry me — I mean of late, since I began to think 
how every moment and hour could be best economized. 

" Your troubles are those that hurry, and worry, and 
unfit for mental productiveness, or exertion even. You 
should seek, for your health of body and mind, to lessen 
rather than to increase your engagements. 

" Does God exact day labor, 
Light denied?" 

" Get your John Milton, and read the whole of that 
for the fiftieth time. It is the greatest possible comfort 



HER LIFE m PHILADELPHIA. 115 

to me, though I never can believe that Miss Barrett did 
aot write it instead of Milton." 

These letters were written long years after 
the time in her life of which we are speaking ; 
but they embody the wisdom which was the 
gain of these severe lessons — a wisdom which 
made her life broad and strong in its serene 
current, and which enriched all lives borderino; 
on the stream of hers. 

In May 17th, 1851, she makes the following 
entry in her journal : 

" It is Sunday night — a dropping rain without, mam- 
ma and I alone, the dear parlor lighted by the solar lamp, 
Joseph's gift that pleasant afternoon. The books, the 
pictures, the open piano : let me daguerreotype the scene 
for years that are to come, when mamma is lying beside 
Joseph, and I have another home. 

" There is an engraving on the table, a proof of Mr. 
Furness' picture of myself, which has just arrived from 
London. Is all this real? the scenes I have passed 
through during the last five years! And here am I, 
drifting out to an unknown future, holding days as dark, 
perhaps, as some in the past, for youth and romance will 
have faded, and friends of to-day will be afar off, or dead 
then. 

"A person came here yesterday, who told me he had 



116 COUSIN ALICE. 

seen mj picture in a log-cabin out "West, and that my 
little books ^icere doing good^^ and that I was loved and 
praised for them. My dreams realized ! But how is it 
with me ? 

" E. and Mr. M. have been in this evening, as they 
have been every Sunday evening for the last five years. 
I have been cross, and rude, and uncharitable. "When I 
think I am doing so well, pride and self-love are always 
ready to get the better of my good resolutions. Yet I do 
think my principles are more clearly defined, my prac- 
tice not always quite so faulty. But alas ! I am still on 
the borders of sin, and always in the midst of tempta- 
tion ! 

" This journal is to me a series of waymarks, by which 
I trace the graduations of thought and feeling which make 
me what I am. It is egotistical, of course ; but it is meant 
for no eye but my own. 

"*[ have been to church but once to-day. I have 
yielded completely to sloth. It is one of my great faults, 
so many others spring from it." 

It was during tliis^year tliat Iter engagement 
to Mr. Haven became known. It excited a great 
deal of comment, and occasioned many stric- 
tures. There were not wanting those who 
thought or said that it would be most cruel for 
her to leave Mrs. ]S"eal ; the consideration and 
sacrifice of so much bright life was forgotten by 



HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 117 

tliem, in. tlie monstrous possibility of her finding 
happiness in any other course of life ! Then it 
could not but occasion a remark that she whose 
tastes and principles were so marked should 
have bound herself to one who would have no 
religious sympathy with her, and no sympathy 
in her tastes, no appreciation possibly of the 
elevation of her life in its self-abnegation, and 
its perpetual aspiration. In a poem called " Un- 
masking," having for its motto, " They call me 
heartless when I am only strong," she refers to 
her early bereavement, to the bilrden she had 
borne so many years uncheered, and so often 
unappreciated, and then says : 

"And I go forth aloiie, to brave 

Life's falsehood and its scorn; 
Remembering that its cold deceit 

Thou, too, hast nobly borne, 
And with a pure humility, 

Its offered honors worn. 

This thought hath made me strong to check 

The bitterness of grief; 
Hath nerved my heart to bear the pain 

Which Time brings no relief; 
Tet lam censured that my love 

For thee JiatTi been so hrie// 



118 COUSIN ALICE. 

So brief ! ah well! I only ask 

They may not have to bear 
One half the loneline&s I know, 

One tithe of my despair; 
Our Saviour for his enemies 

Through death-pangs breathed a prayer." 

Alice Ideal's feeling for tlie husband of lier 
yontli admitted no question. To the ctee of 
lier life his name was uttered with a reverential 
tenderness ; but her loyalty to this dream of her 
girlhood, from which she awoke to life's reali- 
ties, did not enjoin upon her the inner solitude, 
or the toil, or the exposure to the blast, from 
which nothing would shield her now but a hus- 
band's care, and love, and guidance. 

It was her peculiarity, that she judged al- 
ways /b/* herself of any important step she might 
have in view. She did not form her judgments 
hastily, or without looking at the question on 
every side, and especially without praying 
much over it. 

Having done this, all she could do, she would 
remain quiet, the question apparently unmooted 
even in her own mind. This was in advance of 
the formation of a judgment ; she was quiet, be- 
cause she was watching for what she considered 



HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 119 

God's leading. This metliod of procedure kept 
her often from askino; advice when the askino; 
was expected, and made her sometimes appear 
opinionated and arrogant. It was not uncom- 
mon for her to say : 

" I have been tliinking over my plans for M. I must 
wait for light to see which way to move. As I can do 
nothing but this, I will put the matter out of my mind ; 
it would be only a waste of time to go over the same 
ground again, when no conclusion is possible at present." 

Her sister having passed the summer of 1850 
in Philadelphia, in the autumn of that year 
Alice accompanied her and her husband to JSTew 
York, and spent a few weeks there during the 
sensation occasioned by the coming of Jenny 
Liiid. She gave herself up with great freshness 
and sense of enjoyment to the charm of the 
music, and scarcely less to the interest she felt 
personally in the singer. An evening passed 
with her at her hotel was an era to Alice, though 
Jenny Lind singing Casta Diva, and Jenny Lind 
conversing in her deep, guttural tones, seemed 
beings of different mould and endowment. Her 
personal attraction consisted in the smgle-mind- 



120 COUSIN ALICE. 

edness of the fair Swede, the force and purity 
of her character, and her unaffected charity. 

The illness of her brother this year brought 
to Alice fresh care and anxiety, and with this 
came losses in business, " bringing care upon 
care, and sorrow upon sorrow." She occupied 
herself with striving in every way to accomplish 
her purposes. The tact which was so eminent 
in her, that it enhanced every attraction, and 
was, after all that can be said in description of 
her personally, the most magical of her charms, 
that which eluded the last analysis of her powers 
of fascination, was her best reliance in her busi- 
ness affairs. Energy, courage, and tact, were 
the elements of character which constrained suc- 
cess for her. 

Exercising these unsparingly, she did not fail 
to reap the benefit of them. She was able to 
effect an arrangement with the Messrs. Appleton 
to publish the first volume of her very popular 
series, called " The Home Books." Each of 
these had a proverbial title, and the title of each 
describes the phase of life in which it was writ- 
ten, and out of whose experience it grew. This 
first book was " ISTo such "Word as Fail." How 



EER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 121 

significant of the history of this year of endeavor, 
of disappointment, and of success ! 

She also wrote, during this year, a second part 
of Helen Morton, which she called ""Watch and 
Pray," a title as significant of the lessons she 
was learning in her spiritual life. 

She speaks simply, but pathetically, of the 
trouble she was having in regard to the Gazette; 
for, clever and wise as she was getting to be, she 
was after all only a slender little woman, hardly 
out of her girlhood ; and her partners were astute 
men, themselves embarrassed by the precarious 
success of a literary journal. She wrote to her 
brother-in-law, who was engaged in the same 
kind of an undertaking : 

" It is very pleasant to have a literary paper of one's 
own; but it is a very unprofitable investment, a most ex- 
pensive hobby, and no one has any business to undertake 
it on a smaller income than $25,000 per annum ! " 

She says : 

• 

" I have such depressing struggles in view of my duty, 
so much doubt about the future, that I sometimes do not 
sleep o' nights; but a clear trust in heaven alternates 
with the wretchedness unspeakable — a trust as clear a3 
the sunshine in the sky while I write, cloudless, satisfying.'* 
6 



122 COUSIN ALICE. 

On a scrap of paper without date, but foupd 
in tliis volume of her journal, she writes : 

" I have often thouglit what a mistake it was in nature 
to make me so small ! With all the ardor and enthusiasm 
pent up in my heart, with all the wild fancy and impetu- 
ous, headlong impulse, the strong will, the self-centred 
egotism, the power of endm-ance, and the strange and 
terrible scenes of my life, I should have had some response 
in my physical frame. I should have been strong, full. 
Yet I have no pride with which to arch a stately threat, 
or sweep the ground as such a woman would. It is a 
defect in my nature that I have no strong pride ; the fire 
is quickly kindled, and as quickly dies. It is a strange 
thing that I have accomplished most in the world by an 
acquired virtue, by industry rather than talent." 

It will be seen how indomitable this industry 
was, as well as how unselfish the purposes for 
which it was exercised. Sleep and rest were 
her best medicines when exhausted by fatigue 
or work. She always ate daintily and sparingly, 
but she slept as heartily as a tired child — a deep, 
drealnless slumber, from which she was roused 
with difficulty. Toward morning her sleep was 
soundest and most refreshing ; and often, when 
awakened, she would plead for a little more 
time, and hence was almost always a late riser. 



HER LIFE IN FHILADELPHIA. 123 

As is usual with persons of her temperamentj 
her evenings were long and bright, prolonged 
often to " the small hours," when life seemed to 
cuhninate, as if the chalice were then freshly 
brimmed with the richest wines. ISTo one who 
saw her in these choice moods will forget their 
rare fascinations. It was hard to recognize in 
the morning — wakening slowly and reluctantly, 
like an unrested child — the bright and sparkling 
being of the previous evening. Through all the 
morning there seemed to be a slow unfolding of 
the earthly cumbering, each removal bringing 
its own gleam of spiritual life, till the charm of 
the bright soul was again revealed in its beauty. 

Hence she knew nothing of " fresh morning 
hours." Her first conscious impulse was " work," 
her first thought "duty." 

A friend who slept lightly, to whom indeed 
food was all that sleep was to Alice, remonstrated 
with her once on her late rising. 

" I slee^ to live^ as you eat," she replied. 
" You say you have no respect for me till mid- 
day. I do not think I have much for myself 
till some time after I awake ; nor then, till my 
spiritual nature is fairly roused. I have often 



124 COUSIN ALICE. 

wondered if any one else was as soulless as I am, 
sometimes for hours ; my conscience first brings 
me to consciousness. If it grows, and character- 
izes me, and I liope to come more and more un- 
der its influence, I may yet be an early riser ! 
But I think I shall be a compact of the virtues 
by that time, over whom the flesh will have no 
sway." 

Yet for years this lover of sleep, and of her 
ease, who could so long defend her practice of 
late rising, was an early riser to accomplish 
.properly the day's duties, and to give time for 
constantly increasing engagements. 



CHAPTEK X. 



WINTER JUT CHARLESTON. 




iN tlie autumn of 1851 her brother-in- 
law, coming N^orth, found Alice wea- 
ried and depressed bj the peculiar and 
painful trials of that year. There had 
been no external flagging, but her wings were 
wearied with her long flight, and bruised by the 
buffetting with the storm of untoward circum- 
stances which had assailed her for some time 
past. Again, as in the year previous, her rec- 
ord could have been " care upon care, sorrow 
upon sorrow." 

Yielding to the persuasion of her brother, 
and in consideration of the ill health of her sis- 
ter, rather than with the purpose of recruiting 
her own exhausted energies, much as she needed 



126 COUSIN ALICE. 

this, slie returned with Mr. Kichards to Charles- 
ton, in October. She did not intend to spend 
the winter there ; but month after month went 
by, and it was late in February before she left a 
city whose hospitalities had been so abundant 
and so grateful to her. 

Her enjoyment, never lacking zest while she 
had any strength, was very keen during this 
visit. Her name was well known, her little 
books were exceedin'gly popular, the story of her 
life was interesting, and " Mrs. l^eal " was ad- 
mired and courted wherever she appeared. 

ITever was she personally more attractive 
than at this period. Her slight figure was al- 
ways tastefully and gracefully arrayed, although 
with a girlish simplicity, "^o persuasion could 
induce her to wear ornaments in her hair, unless 
occasionally a natural flower, worn with the 
careless ease of a child. - 

" Mrs. IsTeal is here," said a lady one evening 
to a guest. 

" Yes," replied the gentleman ; " I was told 
she was in the room, and have occupied myself 
trying to find her." 

" Oh, you would never know her from any 



WINTER IN CHARLESTON. 12Y 

preconceived idea. She is in that group by the 
piano ; they are begging her to sing." 

"You don't mean that that young girl in 
white is Mrs. I^eal, the writer ? I thought that 
was some bright young creature, just from school, 
fluttering her wings in society for the first time, 
though her ease of manner puzzled me. Such 
pretty little hands and girlish arms, and masses 
of brown hair put up so simply ; such a fresh 
bloom, and so unhackneyed in manner generally, 
I never would have believed it ! " 

She was very fond of riding, and, for health's 
sake, at the recomniendation of her physician, 
she had been for some time the pupil, in Phila- 
delphia, of a celebrated riding-master. The fine 
weather of a Southern winter made the exercise 
charming. A gentleman well known in the lit- 
erary world as one of the most industrious and 
prolific writers in our country, called while she 
was out riding one afternoon, and sat awaiting 
her return. 

She came in attired in her well-fitting dark 
green habit, the " Jenny Lind " hat, then in 
vogue, surmounting the heavy braids which set 
off her youthful face, the little gauntleted hand 



128 COUSIN ALICE. 

holding an inlaid whip, making a tout ensemblf 
that was as lovely as a picture ; so the gentle- 
man thought, for his exclamation, as she stood in 
the doorway, was a spontaneous tribute — 

" A picture for repaembrance ! " 

And years afterwards, in speaking of lovely wo- 
men, he would bring up the apparition that en- 
chanted him, as the most bewitching he had 
ever seen. 

Later, as she stood in the same dress in the 
deep embrasure of the window, the light of the 
sinking sun playing about hjBr, the animation the 
ride had given her, replaced by the finer fire of 
the brilliant conversation into which she at once 
entered with her vivacious visitor, " the pictm-e 
for remembrance " was complete. 

It is not wonderful that such attractions 
made her a greater favorite even than her repu- 
tation as one of the most promising young writ- 
ers of the day ; and, conscious of the pleasure 
she was giving, it was not possible for her to 
find less than the greatest enjoyment in society, 
especially when, as in that she entered in 
Charleston, the highest culture accompanied un • 



WINTER m CHARLESTON. 129 

common refinement. Familiar with correspond- 
ing circles in Philadelphia and ISTew York, she 
unhesitatingly gave the ^^I'eference to that of 
Charleston, a preference expressed again when, 
years afterwards, she was again a guest in the 
city. 

]S"o one who met her during the winter of 
'51, will forget "the fascinating Mrs. IS'eal,'' 
whose movements were paragraphed in the pub 
lie prints, whose ton mots were repeated, who 
was always the centre of the most brilliant circle 
in the room, who seemed too bright and happy 
to know any thing of the serious and shady side 
of life. 

She quite overturned the ideas commonly 
formed of literary women : so young, so bright, 
so girlish and insoueianfe, was this one of the 
editors of the " Saturday Gazette," one of its 
publishing partners ! was this the stay, not sim- 
ply of her venerable mother-in-law, but of others 
widowed and fatherless ! was this the writer of 
wise letters to young aspirants for literary dis- 
tinction ! and, above all, was this the sad-hearted 
woman, already finding " the world recede," 



6* 



130 COUSm ALICE. 

wliile she was fixing her gaze on the skies which 
alone were satisfying, unchanging, and eternal ! 

So society saw only one phase. Every week 
a long letter was read in the quiet parlor in Sev- 
enth street, telling "dear mamma" what the 
truant had done during the week since the pre- 
vious epistle had been written. What visits and 
visitors, what rides and excursions, what gay 
gatherings in the evening, and what the result 
of her morning's occupation. 

These mornings were spent in worh, no mat- 
ter how numerous and fatiguing the evening's 
engagements had been ; and she not unfrequent- 
ly went to two or three parties, or a social en- 
tertainment after a concert. Every morning 
she wrote, sitting as usual, portfolio in her lap, 
on a low footstool, in the sunshine of the south 
gallery; or, if too cool for that, by the crackling 
woodfire, which she considered one of the lux- 
uries of this Southern winter, and an inspiration 
in itself, after having had all her life only the 
sedate Northern anthracite. 

In these home letters there was an odd mix- 
ture of business and pleasure. In turn she 
would consider and provide for the wants of the 



WINTER IN OHARLESTON 131 

family in Seventh street ; and another, almost 
as mucli dependent on lier care and exertion; 
and would give a faithful attention to the details 
of her business affairs. Her care, and fore- 
thought, and prudence, blended oddly with the 
graphic accounts of her gay life ; her descriptions 
of society were like her talk, sparkling with bril- 
liant mots, and attractive from deft and grace- 
ful phrase. 

E"o bee ever made honey in the sunshine more 
industriously. She gathered, material in her 
visits to the Orphan House for the most pathetic 
of her books, " Patient Waiting N"o Loss." She 
wrote descriptive letters for the " Philadelphia 
Bulletin ; " she kept up her engagement with 
Mr. Godey ; wrote constantly for her own pa- 
per ; and, when this was done, gave morning 
after morning to fresh creations, as if she could 
not sufficiently fill up her time, and idleness or 
even rest were impossible to her. 

Her little nephew, a child of three years, was 
her playfellow when work was over : she rhymed 
and sang for him, and ev'ery evening, no matter 
what its hours held for her of social excitement, 
the chftd went to sleep with her songs lulling 



132 COUSIN ALICE. 

him, or her stories following him into his dreams, 
Time spent bj others at the toilette, was not 
needed by her in her simple adorning ; and often 
the carriage at the door would find her still in 
the nursery with the boy. " Aunt Lallish" was 
sweeter to her than any greeting " Mrs. Neal " 
received. 

Though she had not time, nor did she dare 
to use her eyes for fine needle- work, she had a 
dainty use of the needle. She one morning 
brought her sister a baby's robe, exquisitely 
made, which had occupied her during stolen 
hours. 

"When did you find time for this, Alice ? " 
" Oh, I made time, as anybody does who 
particularly wants it. I find time for all I have 
to do, though I am not as swift as you are in my 
movements, and have a habit of taking my cof- 
fee when you are thinking of ringing for lunch. 
I must own to the complacency with which I 
regard this exploit ; I am as much surprised and 
delighted with myself as I would be with you if 
you had written a book. Won't baby's dimpled 
shoulders and arms be lovely in this ; I kept 
thinking of that all the time." 



WINTER IN CHARLESTON. 13? 

She had great pleasure in the fine chunes of 
St. Michael's and St. Philip's, which made the 
city atmosphere ripple with music on the Sun- 
day afternoons. IS'owhere were bells sweeter 
than in this river-environed city; and Alice's 
first realization of the capacity of chimes was 
here.^ Her sister finding her in the open gallery 
one afternoon, apparently lost in the delicious 
harmonies, said : 

'*^Are you making a worship of your enjoy- 
ment, and not going to evening service ? " 

" Most certainly I am going to evening ser- 
vice. Music like this makes me devotional ; but 
I need something more than this to go through 
the week with." 

" What do you mean ? " 

" Oh, I need to be strengthened all the time. 
This only soothes, makes me grateful, perhaps ; 
but my life is such a struggle, such a fight with 
temptations ; and then I must be made contrite 
for wherein I come short of the requirement." 

The disposition to indulge in rest in the af- 
ternoon of Sunday, was often alluded to with 
pain; and busy as was every week day, she 
never allowed herself the indulgence without 



134 COUSIN ALICE. 

putting it down as " a yielding to temptation." 
"While she had strength for it, she was in the 
habit of attending every public service of the 
day, and through the week, during Lent ; and 
at other times she was always glad when it was 
said to her, " Let us go ujp to the House of GodP 
Certainly her " delight was in its courts." 

Her fondness for statistical information was 
manifested in Charleston. This was her first 
experience of Southern life, and she made no 
superficial observations, but examined for her- 
self into details that few women consider. She 
filled many sheets with the result of her investi- 
gations. When asked if she expected to write a 
book on the South, she replied : 

" Oh, no ; but I had an opportimity to learn 
this now, and I may have use for it some time ; I 
never like to trust too much to my mernory, 
good as it is. I believe I never neglect such op- 
portunities — I never dare to. I've grown relig- 
ious about that." 

She found time for this in the midst of occu- 
pations which would have made twenty-four 
hours of daylight desirable. The secret of it lay 



WINTER IJSr CHARLESTON 135 

in the directness witli which she applied herself 
to whatever work was before her. She wasted 
no time in idle reverie ; she thought and worked 
to the purpose, utterly intent npon what she was 
doing, till it was accomplished. She made a 
plan in the morning for the day's work, and lost 
no time in ^' drifting." This was not only the 
secret of large accomplishment, but of her work 
being well done when it was done. 

In February she returned to Philadelphia, 
visiting Washington en route. She writes to 
her sister : 

" is here, ' lobbying ' I suppose it would be 

called, if sbe were a man. Sbe is using all ber cleverness 
to secure an eligible post for her busband. I have great 
faitb in tact, and great respect for it ; but when an am- 
bitious woman is using it to push herself into a worldly 
eminence, you may be sure I learn a lesson. It is only 
another form of unscrupulous selfishness. Do you think 
I am uncharitable ? — possibly. But be assured it is not 
the result of envy, as for a moment I feared it might be 
when I first realized the hard judgment I was passing. I 
only know my impulse was disgust ; and I appreciated 
Joseph's shrinking from an acceptance of the many offers 
made to him of political position, or of advantages which 
his political services made it proper for him to accept, 



136 COUSIN ALICE. 

when I come to see what company it brought a modest 
and worthy man into ! 

" You laugh at my interests in politics, forgetting that 
I had some training from one who could have been emi- 
nent as a pohtician ; and you ask me to write to you 
' whether Millard Filmore or Fillard MUmore is Presi- 
dent, and by what means he happens to be in the chair 
of State.' I understand what your affectation of igno- 
rance implies. Do not be afraid" of my knowing too 
much even to please you, who have such a horror of wo- 
men dabbling in politics. If I had the disposition, "Wash- 
ington would cure me ; but icTiat a place to study Jiuman 
nature Tiere^ where the eagerness of pursuit unmasks it so 
continually. 

" , the Massachusetts idol, is a guest in the 

same family with myself. I find myself watching him all 
the time, to see whether he is sincere. A man taking so 
lofty and pharisaical a stand is bound to be unfettered by 
personal ambition, or any petty influence from within. It 
seems to me a terrible thing to stand up before the world 
at such an elevation, that only a demi-god could fuUy sus- 
tain himself. South Carolina resents no man's position 
as much as this man's. 

" After my little flutter in Charleston, it has been 
grateful to find myself in the shadow of stronger wings. 
Too much sunshine would be ruinous to me. I never 
should be able to save myself from a butterfly's hfe, and 
— a lutterfly'^s fate. The world grows more and more 



WINTER IN CHARLESTON. 137 

uusatisfactory. Certainly I was not made for wliat is 
called pleasure, which palls so readilj, that I am lost in 
wonder at those who make it their life ; who have passed 
double my years in pursuing it here, and who must find 
in it a satisfaction which eludes rne even on the crest of 
the wave." 



CHAPTEK XI. 



THE STRUGGLE ENDIKG. 




HE benefit slie derived from her 
winter at the Sontli is evident in 
the different tone of the entries 
made in her jom'nal on her return: 

" TMs lias been a liappy Lent, so far. I cannot but 
contrast the bright prospects of this spring with the dark 
clouds of last. 

" All seems too fair, too calm. I am looking daily for 
something that shall mar. I only hope when the trial 
of my faith shall come, that I shall not ''charge Godfool- 
islily.'' At present it seems impossible that I should ever 
doubt His care and love. Then, too, I seem to have no 
immediate temptations : home is so fair and happy, my 
days are so industrious and cheerful, my sleep is so sweet 
and sound. May God keep me from presumptuous sins." 

March 24th she makes a sweet record of what 
she calls " a Sabbath-day's journey." 



THE STRUGGLE ENDING. 139 

Her feeling, in view of tlie return of Mr. 
Haven to this country, was very disturbing. 
Her winter of absence from Mrs. JSTeal bad 
sbown ber tbat in ber extraordinary self-poise, 
" mamma," as sbe always called ber, was cbeer- 
ful, and apparently content even witbout ber ; 
too reserved, and possibly too pblegmatic, to 
make it known even if sbe " wearied " for tbe 
sunsbine sbe could' not fail to miss. 

Tben, too, anotber experience, wbicb was not 
confined to ber winter in Cbarleston, tbougb its 
lessons bad new enforcement tbere, made ber 
reconsider ber present position toward Mr. H. 
Sbe bad admirers wbose name was legion^ some 
diffident and bopeless, as became tbose wbo ad- 
mired " a far-off star ; " otbers, presuming and 
bold in tbe earnestness witb wbicb tbey regard- 
ed a possible future conforming to tbeir most 
ardent desires. Her engagement, well known 
as it was, bad not prevented some aspirations 
wbicb annoyed ber, and some wbose sincerity 
made ber unbappy, as sbe saw tbe pain ber dis- 
couragement caused. 

Sbe writes on May 6tb : 

" I have just finisbed reading the life of Mrs. Godol- 



140 COUSIN ALICE. 

pMn. I do not know when I have enjoyed a book so 
much. One rarely knows so beautiful a character. 
There is much in the book that comes home to me now ; 
her doubts, to marry or not to marry, for instance. I 
have quoted part of this in a letter to S., as expressing 
what I feel ; but the struggle is ended for the present. I 
seem to have given up all to the direction of our Father, 
who knows what is best, far better than we ourselves 
can. I shall wait for some plain token. My husband 
will have more confidence in me, when he sees that I 
cannot desert a duty for a selfish happiness. All things 
now, as heretofore, will, I am persuaded, work together 
for our good. 

" Another reason for liking the book is, the example 
of strict watchfulness and constant devotion which it 
gives." 

"■May 29th. 

" This week of temptation and ill-doing is better than 
a deceitful calm — ^both the temptations that I most dread- 
ed and most guarded against. 

" Monday my devotions were hurried, because of bus- 
iness. I was successful, fortunately, but I was too tired 
at night to pray even. Tuesday it was business, and ill- 
ness again gave me no time. "Wednesday vain glory and 
egotism, harshness and bitterness of spirit. So on Thurs- 
day ; still no prayer, no regular reading. Friday trifling. 
Saturday, was led, or rather, led myself into some of my 
worst faults. 

" Thoughts to be pondered : 



THE STRUGGLE ENDING. 141 

"It must always be remembered that consistency is 
essential to a useful character. "Without it, many may 
love, but none wiU respect you. 

" True humility, like every other grace, begins like a 
gift, and increases like a habit." 

'■'■ July IWi. 

" Though written months ago, this wiU do for the 
motto for my yearly review, to remind me in time to 
come of the principal virtues which I need — meekness 
and patience. 

"It is five years to-day since my" best friend died! 
Five years ! Mamma sat here that morning, and I put 
my arms about her neck for the first time in my life, and 
said: 

" ' Don't send me away from you, mamma.' 

" 'No, Alice ; you must never go away from me,' she 
replied. 

"And now the struggle is always going on! God 
direct me aright, is all I can pray. 

" Every day I find out more and more how much I 
owe to Joseph, and the trials that came through that 
love. He said once, '•We will show Neelie a woman 
at twenty-five ; ' and to mamma, ' What a woman 
Alice will make ! ' I wonder if I have half fulfilled his 
hopes. Oh, may God guide me as lovingly through all 
the trials that are to come, in whatever shape they 
may be. 

" Mamma is scarcely changed sintje then. Who would 



U2 COUSIN ALICE. 

have believed it possible ! She loves me as well, or bet- 
ter tban then, I know. 

" ' Mamma,' I said, a few days ago, ' any one to see 
me wandering around would think me very idle.' 

" ' ISTo indeed, Alice ; they would wonder how such a 
little body could attend to so much.' 

"Dear mamma! I put it on record, not for the praise, 
but to recall your kind tone and smile. 

"My faults of character have deepened, I fear. In 
some cases it is my fate to see the best, yet the worst pur- 
sue. I do hope I am gaining some ground against my 
besetting sins ; but others have developed themselves, 
which seem even harder to watch against. I am less in- 
dolent, and more irritable ; less selfish in great things, 
and more so in my daily life. I dread life as much now 
for its temptations as for its trials." 

''Sunday, July loth, 1852. 

" ' One temptation goeth away and another cometh,' 
says my invaluable Thomas a Kempis. This morning I 
have found these sentences almost as helpful, in the ninth 
chapter of the second book : 

" ' Temptation going before is wont to be a sign of en- 
suing comfort.' 

" ' Some comfort is given that a man be stronger to 
bear adversity. Then followeth temptation, lest he should 
be proud thereof. The devil sleepeth not, neither is the 
flesh yet dead ; therefore cease not to prepare thyself for 
the battle, for on thy right hand and on thy left are ene- 
mies that never rest.' 



THE STRUGGLE ENDING. 143 

" During this last week I have been much worn with 
nervous impatience and irritation. If I, not yet twenty- 
five years old, with so much health and so many comforts, 
say, * Oh, weary life,' what shall I be at fifty or seventy, 
or with poverty, or loneliness, or pain; or what is to 
keep me in the endeavor of the intervening years? 

" All last night this was in my mind : 

"'If thou hast run with the footmen and they have 
wearied thee, how canst thou contend with the horses ? 
And if in the land of peace, wherein thou trustest, they 
have wearied thee, how wilt thou do in the swellings of 
Jordan?'" 

In the autumn of 1852 Alice accompanied 
her sister, who was awaiting, at the ]N"orth, the 
subsidence of the yellow fever in Charleston, to 
pay a visit to some young friends in Accomac 
County, on the eastern shore of Yirginia. 

Her acquaintance with these young people 
was not yet personal, and had arisen in this man- 
ner : The " Saturday Gazette " had found its way 
to this remote part of the country, and fallen 
into the hands of a group of children, who were 
its eager and emulous readers. All of them in 
the end became writers. The eldest of them 
sent her first contributions, with a humble little 
note, to Mrs. l^eal, the editor of " The Bird's 



144 COUSIN ALICE. 

!N'est." The sweetness and uncommon finish of 
the sketch attracted the attention of the young 
editor, who praised it; and in time, as more 
sketches and verses came, letters passed, and a 
strong mutual interest grew up between the lit- 
tle " Marie E." and her friend " Cousin AHce." 

By the advice of Alice, contributions were 
sent by " Marie E." and her younger sister, and 
even a brother still younger, to " The School- 
fellow," a juvenile magazine published in 
Charleston by Mr. Richards. He soon shared 
his sisters' interest in the young Yirginians. 
Since Alice l^eal had first written to them, they 
had been bereft by death of father and mother ; 
but they were still living at " Margaret Hall," 
wards of their eldest brother. Mr. Eichards had 
visited them in the spring of 1852 ; and it had 
been arranged that "Marie E." should spend 
the ensuing winter in Charleston with his family, 
Mrs. Richards coming to Accomac for her on . 
her way South in the fall. 

This she did, as we see, Alice bearing her 
company. The visit was one of rare interest to 
all. " Margaret Hall " was a very old mansion, 
which had survived the flood so memorable in 



THE STRUGGLE ENDING. 145 

tliat part of tlie Eastern Shore ; and its thick 
walls, arched doorways, and iron-studded doors, 
seemed ready to resist another siege of the ele- 
ments. In this home, remote from all literary 
association, except such as their own household 
afforded, these children had passed years of 
mingled study, play, and romance, till when the 
two sisters were now just entering their teens, mere 
children still, their father's instruction had made 
them fine Latin and Greek scholars ; and their 
well-endowed minds, with the sparse culture of 
a few periodicals, and some choice literary works 
which their father's library held,or which they pro- 
cured for themselves in the occasional opportu- 
nities they had to send to the cities, were already 
giving promise of ability and productiveness. 
The third of this trio, the brother, whose clever 
translations from the Greek, when he was only 
eleven, had been welcomed by the editor of " The 
Schoolfellow," was destined to a short life of won- 
derful brilliancy — dying before he attained man- 
hood, though not before he had graduated with 
honor at college, and had been admitted to prac- 
tice at the bar. 

The correspondence with these interesting 
7 



146 COUSIN ALICE 

young people was three or four years old wlien 
this visit was paid. During this time " Cousin 
Alice " had been friend, counsellor, and com- 
forter, and now she found herself looked up to 
with an admiring deference, as touching as it 
was graceful. 

Driving over this beautiful country, v/ander- 
ing through its superb forests, visiting amidst its 
hospitable people, and leading these fresh spirits 
into new fields of literary culture, an autumn 
month sped fast for Alice, Here at last was 
peace after all the turmoil of the struggle ; the 
world shut out, her soul grew strong. It was 
while here that she wrote the book whose mate- 
rial she gathered in Charleston. The preface of 
" Patient Waiting ]^o Loss " is dated at " Mar- 
garet Hall." 

" Marie E." did not go to Charleston. Cir- 
cumstances developed themselves during the au- 
tumn which decided Mr. Richards to make the 
North his home. Marie came to Philadelphia 
with Mrs. Eichards a month after Alice's own 
return, and at ISTew Year's went to !N"ew York 
for the winter. Before a twelvemonth was 
ended, she became the beloved sister of her 



THE STRUGGLE ENDING. 147 

visitors during that lovely aiitunm — marrying 
tlieir only brother. 

Little did Alice JSTeal think that she was 
training a dear sister and co-worker in her 
young protegee ; one who was to be a sister in 
spirit as well as name, who should stand beside 
her henceforth in all her work and life, minis- 
tering to her in the close of both ; wiping the 
death dews from her brow in the final agony, 
and humbly and prayerfully ending the work 
which death found unfinished in the hands of 
" Cousin Alice." 



PART II, 



HOME LIFE 






PART 11. 

BOMB LIFE. 




CHAPTEK I. 

SEC02TD MARRIAGE. 

Jan. ls#, 1858. 

IVE years from the date of our partial 
engagement, we were married after 
dinner, in St. Peter's Cliurcli, Philadel- 
phia, Fan., sister, and brother Willie 
being present." 

Tills is the simple record of tliis event in her 
life. Mr. Haven had returned from California 
about a month previously : the entanglement of 
circumstances was such, that it seemed impossi- 
ble to decide what would be wisest. Before this 
date there is a record running from the time of 



150 COUSm ALICE. 

their first acquaintance, of the struggle " to know 
and do the right ; " this struggle was making 
her life jet more turbulent and wearisome. Mrs. 
ISTeal laid no obstacle in her path ; if Alice felt 
that she must leave her, she would spend her few 
remaining days with a relative, where she would 
have care and comfort, the inconsidered needs 
of an existence prolonged beyond her hopes, and 
holding little that was attractive in it now. 

Hopeless of disentanglement, the knot was 
cut by the sudden determination that this life, 
" so hard and lonely," as she pathetically calls 
it, so wearing with its perpetual struggle, so full 
oftemptations and trials, must ^7i^/ that she must 
have the arm to lean upon, the judgment to 
guide, the ever present sympathy and support 
of a husband's protecting love. 

On their return from church, on this ISTew 
Year's Day, Alice, with Mr. Haven, entered the 
parlor which was no longer to be her home. 
Mrs. ITeal sat in her accustomed place by the 
window, her tea-tray beside her, as usual, at that 
hour. Alice went up to her — 

" Mamma, I have decided ; I am Mr. Haven's 
wife." 



SECOND MARRIAGE. 161 

The old lady said, quietly, though a little 
tremulously : 

"You have been a good daughter, Alice; 
you will be a good wife ; " and so she blessed 
her with unspoken words, each heart full of that 
which could not be uttered, as they recalled the 
former bridal, which had brought Alice to the 
home she was now leaving forever. 

Some time after we find in her journal : 

"Saturday we came to our rooms at the St. Denis, m 
New York, to commence the world together. 

" For many reasons, our marriage seemed hasty and 
unwise. In the tangle of circumstances which surround- 
ed me, I do not see how it would have been better to 
wait. I certainly believe our Father overruled all." 

The next entry is : 

" Jan. 12th. 
" ' Continue in the faith grounded and settled, and be 
not moved aioay from the hope of the Gospel which you 
have heard.'' Do net let me, Oh my Father, forget the 
trials and sorrows of the past in this prosperity. Do not 
let my heart be lifted up to forget that it is thy gift. 
Save me from worldliness acd insincerity, from neglect- 
ing any talent, any spiritual for any worldly pleasure. 
Help me to pray constantly for my husband's best good, 
to look forward with cheerfulness and resignation to the 



152 COUSIN ALICE. 

events of the future. Make me more humble, patient^ 
and peaceable ; more like mj Master." 

" '■Beware lest any man spoil you througli pliilosopliy 
and vain deceit^ after tJie traditions ofmen^ after the ru- 
diments of the iDorld^ and not after Christ.'' 

"Help me, Oh Father, to repeat the prayer; to fol- 
low not the example of the world, but Christ's, in doing 
whatsoever mj hand finds to do with all my might ; in 
living a good example to those who do not recognize 
Thee as Master and Pattern." 

" '7)^, then, you le risen loith Christ, seeTc those things 
which are above? 

" ''He that followeth after me, walJceth not in darlcness, 
saith the Lord.'' 

" These are the words of Chi-ist, by which we are ad- 
monished that we ought to imitate His life and manners, 
if ever we would be truly enlightened, and delivered from 
all blindness of heart." — Thomas a Kempis. 

"15^^. 

" ' Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, 
even as Christ forgave you.'' " 

"-lUh. 

" ''And above all things, put on Charity, which is the 
bond of perfectness? 

" We are all frail : but remember, none more frail 



SECOND MARRIAGE. 153 

than thyself. If thou shouldst see another sin openly, 

yet oughtest thou not to esteem thyself better than he." 

'■'■^Continue in-praxjer^ and watch in tlie same with 
thanksgiving.'* " 

"18;;^. 

" ' Yg turned to God from idols, to serve the living 
God."* The dearest idol I have known." 

This little insight into the inner life of Mrs. 
Haven needs bnt a word of explanation. Mr. 
Haven was completely a man of the world, with 
no sympathy in the religions life of his wdfe. 
That she bes-an to see the new forms in which 
temptations were to come to her, these passages 
of Scripture, which were doubtless significant of 
each day's experience, plainly shovv^ She was 
at once 'on her guard against the onsets which 
her faith was to receive, and determined, by 
God's help, to maintain her ground, ''jpuUing 
on charity y which is the hond of jperfectness^"^ 

When they had decided to live in ]^ew York, 
she became an attendant on Dr. Anthon's min- 
istry, but she did not feel permanently enough 
established to enter into any intimate church 
relationship. Their home at the St. Denis was, 



164 COUSIN ALICE. 

• 

of course, a temporary one. Mr. Haven made 
his arrangements to return to Ms former business 
in Wall street, where he was a member of the 
Board of Brokers, and he embarked in it the 
capital he had brought with him from California. 

Mrs. Haven passed her time in accordance 
with tastes which were too firmly supported by 
principle to admit of change. She wrote as in- 
dustriously as ever, each moiTung, keeping up 
the various interests of which she was the chief 
sustainer : the household in Seventh street, Phila- 
delphia, went on as usual, till it was broken up 
in the spring by Mrs. Xeal's removal to the 
house of her niece. 

Alice made all arrangements in business 
affairs as independently as before. Her income 
ii'om her books and periodical contributions, 
amounting to twelve hundred or fifteen hundred 
dollars per annum, remained in her own hands, 
subject to her own judgment. It was distributed 
as before, with the utmost judiciousness. Thus 
at ease, and independent in her charities and 
good works, she felt, with gratitude, the rebound 
from the depression of the past few years. 



SECOND MARRIAGE. 156 

There was one thing which was peculiar in 
this new ordering of her life. The world had 
lost its charm entirely. There was no longer 
any attraction in its gaieties or its pleasnres. She 
rarely went ont in the evening, even to a con- 
cert. Her sister was now living in ISTew York, 
and her husband also had relatives there. These, 
with the fi'iends who came naturally into her 
circle, made np her social life. A few (as has 
already been said) from the old literary cliques, 
whose brilliancy had fascinated her years before, 
were worthy friends of the worthier woman. 
Her standard was raised above the merely intel- 
lectual aspirations of those who failed to sym- 
pathize with her in her new life, " hid in Christ 
with God:' 

There was peace, content, and with all, a 
fear lest prosperity should spoil her. This made 
her watchful and prayerful. How her prayers 
were heard and answered, will be seen. 

In the spring of this year, Mr. Haven met 
with one of the reverses so frequent in Wall street. 
Outwardly, with no expensive establishment to 
be affected, this could not make much difference 



156 COWSm ALICE. 

to them. Her tastes were simple, lier habits of 
self-denial and industry undisturbed by her short 
respite from care. It was only in losing this, 
and in seeing her husband distressed and per- 
plexed, that she could be affected by a reverse 
of fortune. They were looking out for a coun- 
try home, and decided to spend the summer 
months boarding at Hastings, on the Hudson. 
In a cottage built upon a cliff, fronting the up- 
per termination of the magnificent palisades, 
they established themselves with a content, on 
her part, that plainly showed how slight a hold 
the pleasures of life had in her affections. There 
was an Arcadian simplicity in their home and 
their manner of life. Mr. Haven spent the day 
in the city, as do most of the residents of these 
suburban towns; and his wife was glad and 
peaceful in her unvarying routine, her mornings 
with her pen, her work alternating with rambles 
in the picturesque grounds. The afternoon 
brought her husband home to the nest which 
held his treasure. 

We cannot refrain from copying here a rec 
ord so private, that nothing but its deep signifi- 



SECOND MARRIAGE. 157 

cance and heartfelt sincerity could admit of its 
being given even to tlie world of her friends 
Her journal abounds in written prayers, the 
deepest feelings of her nature taking sponta- 
neously the form of communion with the " Heav- 
enly Father." On June 6th she writes : 



" It would seem, after all, that my heart and life were 
not to be tried with prosperity. I grew daily more self- 
indulgent, and more dissatisfied w^ith myself. It is good 
for us that we have been troubled, even for our worldly 
liappiness. We are yet more closely united in our mis- 
fortunes. We begin to have some definite aim in life, 
and here, in the midst of God's beautiful creations, we 
think more of Him. Our time with each other passes 
pleasantly in our new home ; our temptations to waste 
time are less. We have learned particularly our depend- 
ence on Godj who is teaching us faith, patience, and hu- 
mility, as well as giving us repentance for wasted time 
and means in the past, and resolves for better disposition 
of both in the future. 

"I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, for so hearing 
and so answering my prayer recorded in these leaves, 
even though it was made with fear that Thou wouldst 
withdi'aw the ease and comfort then enjoyed. It has been 
for the best for us. I do heartily acknowledge, and I 
would sorrowfully confess, that I have been guilty of 



158 COUSIN ALICE. 

murmuring, of faithless doubts of Thy goodness and care 
for us, of which I do earnestly repent, seeing even now 
Thy loving kindness in all that has befallen us. Grant 
that I may never be guilty again, through all my life, of 
the same error, but trust Thee in the future in all changes 
and chances of this mortal life, by Thy word, and by the 
experiences of the past. 

" Help me to grow daily in hoKness, patience, purity 
of heart and life, gentleness, self-denial, industry, and in 
every grace of Thy Holy Spirit;* which I pray Thee to 
give to me abundantly, that I may serve Thee faithfully, 
and make happy my dear husband and friends. 

" Give a pure nature, as far as is possible, to the un- 
born child for which we have so often thanked Thee. 
Bless it, I pray Thee, with a sound, healthful, and perfect 
body, a loving, humble,' and obedient disposition ; with 
as much talent and beauty as may please Thee, and be 
best for it in this world and the next. May it always be 
a comfort and a blessing to us, and may we have wisdom 
and firmness to guide it aright. 

" For my dear and only love, my husband ' asked of 
God,' I crave, above all other blessings, a knowledge 
and love of Thee. Show him, I beseech Thee, that there 
is more than he yet comprehends in the life of a true 
Christian: teach him the one essential truth of life 
through the death and redemption of our Saviour ; and 
that after this faith, and in consequence of it, comes the 
following of His pure example, not for a vague wish to 



SECOND MARRIAGE. 159 

be good, or for admiration of the excellence displayed in 
it. Help Mm to seek first the kingdom of Heaven, and 
add to this knowledge as much worldly prosperity as is 
best for us. Eelieve us from the pressing anxiety of the 
present as soon as is best for us, and till then give him a 
cheerful and courageous heart, for the sake of our Saviour, 
Christ. Amen." 



CHAPTEE II. 

I^EW EXPERIENCES. 




I^ tlie September of tliis year Mrs. Haven 
went to PMladelpliia, to spend tlie an 
tnmn witli her linsband's family. 



" There I was welcomed and cared for as in my own 
father's house ; and, here my little son was born, on tho 
14th of October, healthy and beautiful." 

Eenewing some of the old associations, 
thongh quite ont of her old sphere, Hfe wearing 
a very different aspect, and bringing new and 
contrasted duties, the time passed quickly and 
pleasantly in her new experiences. But she re- 
turned to health and strength slowly, and to a 
resumption of her old habits of wi'iting, with a 
consciousness of " baby's protest," which for 
some time interfered with her success. 



NEW EXPERIENCES. 161 

Slie writes : 

"I find myself waiting on Mm with a pen in my 
moutli, and get confused about my own identity." 

"I feel a little sliy in my new relation intlie presence 
of the family ; but sometimes I lock the door, and kiss 
my boy to heart's content. I cannot give myself np to 
this emotion before others; it is too sacred and ab- 
sorbing." 

Some verses, wliicli will appeal to all who 
have had a similar experience, express this feel- 
ing. They floated through her mind before she 
was able to hold her pen ; and though she never 
considered them worth publishing, they have 
their merit as an expression of the first emotion 
of the mother : 

** I am thankful they have left me to a hushed and quiet 
room; 
Its stillness is all holiness, its darkness has no gloom ; 
For nestling in my bosom, our first-born infant lies, 
The seal of peaceful slumber pressed on his drooping eyes. 

* Two weeks ago, my little one, thy first low waOing cry 
Broke in upon a midnight hour of fiercest agony. 
Hot tears of joy and thankfulness fell on thy upturned face, 
For prayers and sobs were mingled in thy father's close 
embrace. 



162 COUSIN ALICE. 

'* That wailing cry, that thankful prayer, are echoed round me 
now. 
As lovingly I pass my hand across thy cheek and brow ; 
My heart is full of gratitude, my eyes are full of tears, 
To think the dreaded hour is past, with all its hopes and fears. 

" God bless thee precious little one, most tenderly I pray, 
And guide thee with a father's hand along life's weary way. 
Or if His wisdom should recall the life He thus has given, 
We then shall know a darling child awaits us both in Heaven." 

Mrs. Haven returned to IsTew York about 
Kew Year's, bringing with ber a very beantifal 
cbild, wbom sbe migbt well regard with pride 
and deligbt. In January a little niece was born, 
ber sister's cbild ; and tbe family literature bad 
a curious addition in a coiTespondence kept up 
by tbe two motbers in tbe names of little Sam 
and Editb. Tbe former, aged tbree montbs, 
was supposed to write a very clever baby letter 
to tbe week old " Editb iN'ewcome," wbicb was 
soon responded to witb so mucb zest, tbat tbe 
con-espondence continued till tbe deatb of tbe 
little girl, wben sometbing more tban a year old. 
Tbis " baby correspondence " was publisbed in 
" Tbe Scboolfellow," a juvenile magazine wbicb 
bad been commenced by Mr. Ricbards in tbo 
8outb, and was now flourisbing in IN'ew York. 



m:W EXPERIENCES. 163 

Mrs. Haven frequently contributed to this 
little magazine, wliicli. had now been for several 
years a favorite in various households in both 
sections of the country. It took the place with 
Mrs. Haven of " The Bird's Eest," and conveyed 
to children the interest in their young lives and 
experiences which she always felt, and to which 
she gave such charming expression. 

She believed in juvenile, even in baby litera- 
ture, and the venerable Mother Goose was an 
oracle with her. It was not to her " the intol- 
erable trash " which some very sensible people 
call it. She said she remembered vividly the 
pleasure new rhymes of this infantile sort gave 
to her own little childhood, and she often made 
jingling contributions to the baby lore of the 
day, with the relish said to be shared " by the 
wisest men." Several years after this, when 
going to pay her sister a visit, she wrote to her : 

" I shall cany a copy of Mother Goose with me, to 
help me win a welcome from your children. They are 
not well treated by you in this matter, and do not get 
half as much wholesome nonsense as they need — cer- 
tainly as they would relish. I don't think I shall ever 
forget my childish satisfaction in the merry jingle, or the 



164 COUSm ALICE. 

impulse these old rhymes gave to my wandering wits and 
my wide-awake imagination — ^perhaps, too, to my rhym- 
ing propensities. I would as soon withhold a rattle from 
a baby." 

Slie kej)t up nursery fictions witli graceful 
deference, giving them due place, as slie always 
recognized the value of mental recreation in later 
years. Santa Claus came duly, as he does to all 
good children in l!^ew York and elsewhere. A 
rhyming letter of remonstrance, written by 
" Marie E.," in the name of Santa Claus, to the 
destructive little nephew, who was " Aunt Lal- 
lish's " pet in Charleston, amused Mrs. Haven 
very much, and was often quoted by her to other 
young destructives of the benefactions of the 
Christmas Saint. Her own pen was quick and 
ready to minister to the wondering children, and 
she kept in memory untold amusement con- 
ceived by the wit of others. 

But, as I have said, this lore was not intrud- 
ed out of season or order. It was always subor- 
dinate to the serious instruction which she never 
failed to have fresh and stimulating for the re- 
ceptive minds of the young. It was to this the 
background, as were her gleams of humor and 



NEW EXPERIENCES. 168 

flashes of wit in her. conversation, and it served 
to outline more clearly often the earnest trutlis 
which it was her aim to make impressive and 
attractive. 

Children were a study to her. This is evi- 
dent in the individuality of her childish creations. 
She never gave toys even indiscriminately, or 
without considering their effect ; and Mother 
Goose was administered with as much discretion 
as Maillard's 1)071-1)0118. She saw the danger of 
inducing mental dyspepsia, ty weakening the 
tone of the mind in childhood, too plainly to 
admit of her being injudicious. She did not 
even commit the common mistake of judging 
the digestion of others by her ovvm. 

In the physical care of her children, she was 
on her guard against the errors of inexperience ; 
and she made faithfulness no less a duty dictated 
by conscience, than a pleasure taught by her af- 
fection. To no one could the cares of infancy 
have come with a greater sense of onerousness. 
They broke into an established routine imposed 
by a consciousness of obligation ; they disturbed 
the nights whose refreshing rest seemed so es- 
sential to her health of mind and body ; they 



166 COUSIN ALICE. 

interfered with her mental habits, and became, 
through all this, disciplinary to her spiritual 
nature. But thej were welcomed, and, bring- 
ing their own compensations, she felt their 
value. Life was totally changed since Alice 
JS'eal had become Mrs. Hayen. Every day she 
was less and less ''of tJie world " which still en- 
vironed her. 

The winter after the baby's birth they spent 
m ISTew York ; but in the spring they decided 
to go to housekeeping in some of its quiet sub- 
urban towns ; and, with this purpose in view, 
they made inquiries in reply to the advertise- 
ments of "country homes." It was already 
spring time, when a notice of a cottage residence 
in Rye township, near the Mamaroneck station 
of the K^ew Haven Railroad, arrested attention. 
Mr. Haven could not leave his business to ac- 
company her, so his wife went out of town alone 
to see the house, riding the twenty-five miles in 
a stormy day. The house was newly built, ^nd 
had not yet been occupied ; it was pleasantly 
situated in a grove of locust trees, a pretty cot- 
tage omee, apparently just the home they were 
in search of, and the place was engaged. She 



I^£W EXPERIENCES. 167 

went over to Philadelphia soon after, to spend a 
week or two, and on her return was met by 
Mr. Haven, and conducted to " Locust Cottage," 
which, to her most delighted surprise, she found 
all furnished and arranged for immediate occu- 
pancy by his thoughtful affection. 

In this pretty home she made her birthday 
record, on the 13th of the next September : 

"This first birthday passed in our new home, was 
bright at its beginnings, and happy in its close, but made 
miserable through the day by my own fretful impatience. 

" How much more happily we are situated than we 
were last summer at this time. It was then the close of 
our stay at Hastings, and we were to be separated for the 
autumn, while before me was the great trial of becoming 
a mother. There was no prospect of a settled business 
or a home." 

She then refers gratefully to her pleasant 
visit in Philadelphia, and says ; 

" The following winter was one of ill health, discour- 
agement, and care. In March, after many plans for house- 
keeping, we gave all up, and thought we would return to 
Hastings for the summer. The morning this plan was 
■ found to be impossible was very hard. Weakened by ill 
health and anxiety, I did not see what was to become of 
us — forgetting that our Heavenly Father had more ways 



168 COUSIN ALICE. 

of providing for us than -we could even think of. Late in 
April we saw this house advertised, and I came out alone 
to look at it. I found a new, pleasant, home-like cottage. 
If it had been built expressly for us, it could not have an- 
swered better. It was a home even before it was fur- 
nished. 

" I prayed God as I came out to direct us in our choice, 
and He certainly directed us here. We have had health, 
pleasant neighbors, and many comforts which we could 
not otherwise have enjoyed. We have had our friends 
around us, and so far have always been provided for, 
though there have been some anxious days. 

"I must not forget to mention my short visit to Phil- 
adelphia in the spring, and the care and thoughfulness of 
my husband, who took all the burden of the removal 
upon himself, and gave me the welcome surprise of a 
home waiting to receive us. 

" Baby's illness has been the great anxiety of the sum- 
mer ; but this is over now, and he is a great comfort. He 
is called very beautiful, and his sweet, patient ways make 
him very loveable. I am writing on the l4th, having 
passed yesterday, my birthday, in town. The fault of 
the day was, perhaps, allowed to me, as a landmark 
against the particular temptation and fault of my present 
life. Worrying over ways and means, fretfulness and 
petulance, God help me to watch against this temptation, 
and make me cheerful, patient, and humble." 

In every trial that came to lier in these new 



NEW EXPERIENCES. 169 

experiences of life, as wife, mother, and house- 
keeper, she saw always beyond the pain and suf- 
fering, if such they brought her, the lesson God 
was teaching her in sending them. If she was 
sometimes rebellious under the pam and disap- 
pointment, she was oftener examining herself to 
see what good end He had in view, who allows no 
faithful soul to be tempted beyond its strength 
to bear. 

Much of this experience, woven together by 
a thread of story, is to be found in a series of 
chapters written for the Lady's Book, and after- 
wards published in book form by the Messrs. 
Appleton, and called " The Coopers." 

This volume is full of unobtrusive wisdom, 
sometimes dearly purchased by its writer, and 
therefore the more valuable to all making the 
experiment which now occupied her. It is this 
which commends it, rather than any special in- 
terest which attaches to the story. 

Many a young couple has learned, from the 
experiences of " The' Coopers," to avoid quick- 
sands, to " find the leak," and to sail safely into 
smooth water, where the voyage of life can be 
made pleasantly and profitably. 




CHAPTER III. 

IDEAS OF LIFE WORK. 

HE books wliicli slie was now writing 
for the Appletons, bear proverbial 
titles, as we- liave seen, and eacli 
one of them indicates the phase of 
life through whicli she was passing. Sh*e had 
written " N'o such Word as Fail," when almost 
heart sick with disappointment and discourage- 
ment ; " Contentment better than Wealth," after 
"lying awake at night, planning how to get 
money, which w^as wanted for so many uses ; " 
" Patient Waiting no Loss," when hope deferred 
made her faint with weariness ; " All is not Gold 
that Glitters," as the illusions of worldly pros- 
perity faded before her ; ^ and she could offer 
thanks to God who had given, and who had 
withdrawn His gifts. 



IDEAS OF LIFE WORK. 171 

These stories, save the titles indicating their 
spirity of course did not tell the inward struggle 
out of which thej had their birth, but the wis- 
dom she was learning in the depth of the strug- 
gle ; and God has blest their teachings to more 
than the young readers to whom they were 
addressed. 

" All is not Gold that Glitters " shows more 
power than some of them. It is said to be won- 
derfully graphic, and true to the California life 
it undertakes to portray ; and ITew England is 
certainly as well represented. The book has 
more scope than some of the others, and was 
quite a favorite with its writer. 

"When, from time to time, those who knew 
how much knowledge of life she possessed, and 
into how large a mould she could cast her mate- 
rial, and the ideas which grew as she wrought 
with it, would remonstrate with her for confin- 
ing herself to children's books, and urge higher 
flights and greater breadth, she would defend 
herself with arguments that it was hard to gain- 
say, since they sprang from that which was 
noblest in her nature. 



172 COUSIN ALICE. 

" A strictly personal ambition often stirs within mo, 
prompting me to do as yon say. Yes, I nsed to believe 
in my power, and picture brilliant futures ; but I have 
come to have more respect for my little audiences than 
you seem to have. I write for the five hundi*ed when 
you write for five ; and if there is a lesson to be learned, 
it is better for the five hundred to be reached ; so I aim 
at being popular, attractive, and easily understood, in- 
stead of doing more artistic work, appealing only to the 
few, though I know I do nothing for my reputation by 
these little water-color pictures, which, certainly, every 
one overlooks in the presence of such fine oil paintings as 
your ambition aims at. I have had my temptation to do 
as you say, and I have only recently been offered a large 
price for satirical society pictures, thus overcoming one 
of my scruples, which is, that I must make all the money 
that I can use ; but I cannot bring myself to the work 
now." 

A friend wrote : 

" You could write a very brilliant society novel — no 
one could equal you that I know of in this country ; and 
you do nothing with the wit which you have so plenti 
fuUy at command in conversation." 

She replied in much the same strain as above, 
adding : 

" When I have nothing else to do, I will do as you 



IDEAS OF LIFE WORK. 173 

say. To tell the truth, I have planned such i^ novel long 
ago. I have refrained from using some very rich mate- 
rial in my stories for the H s, because I am reserving 

it for the book which is to come in some idle time, when 
no one is tugging at my purse strings, and my conscience 
IS not pricking a moral lesson into my brain." 

Keeping house on a narrow income, as they 
were doing at Locust Cottage, maintaining, with 
the income from her pen, the dependencies which 
she considered sacred, and pondering sometimes 
how to prevent the lightening of her home purse, 
she wrote " Out of Debt, Out of Danger." She 
was very methodical in her business arrange- 
ments, and she reduced household expenditure 
to a regular system, carrying out the proverb 
just named. Her precision and conscientious- 
ness in the appropriation of her money is worthy 
of remark. 

She one day opened a small drawer in her 
escritoire, and showed her sister seven or eight 
little purses. They had been speaking of the 
advantage of system in every thing, and espe- 
cially in the use of money, and she illustrated 
her practice in this way, remarking : 

"These all belong to different objects. I 



174 COUSIN ALICE. 

never borrow from one to use for another, for 
fear that I might sometimes be tempted to be 
unjust. When my money comes in, I apportion 
it according to its anjount, and these various 
claims which may be more or less pressing. 

M always gets her check every month. I 

do not even see it. It is sent by -Mr. G as 

it becomes due to her, so I have no trouble about 
that. If at any time I have any thing left over, 

I put it into what I call my poor purse. S 

gives me a regular sum every month for the 
household expenditure. Sometimes, when he 
has had ' a good day,' he gives me something 
for my ' poor purse.' 

" Once when our fortunes were at -their low- 
est ebb, we chanced to have only ten cents in the 
house purse. Of course I do not mean to say 
that there was not a great deal between us and 
real need ; but you know S. was out of business 
then, and I tell you of it to show how hard it 
was to resist the temptation, for the moment, to 
borrow from the other purses. But I waited, 
with a sure expectancy that God would provide 
from Friday till Tuesday when S. received a most 
advantageous business proposition, with a good 



IDEAS OF LIFE WORK. 175 

income made certain . My trusty wlien I feel that 
I really exercise trust, is always well repaid." 

Years afterwards slie wrote of this period : 

" I looked after every quart of flour, pound of butter, 
and beef bone. I knew just when every thing came home, 
what it was, how long it lasted, whether it went further 
than the last, etc. I defy any one to keep a more eco- 
nomical table, or to burn more cinders than we did, and 
yet we always had enough and kept warm. There was 
nothing belittling in this close attention to such details, 
for I was serving a large object and carrying out a good 
principle. Then, you know, my beloved expense book : 
every sixpence was entered, and S. posted it for mo every 
quarter. 

" One thing in your letter would trouble me, if I did 
not know it was false to yourself. You write : ' And so 
night comes with the comfortable and sublime conscious- 
ness of having "muddled" through another day.' You 
know very well that when you have been a good wife to 
TV., a good friend to 0., patient with baby and with the 
thousand and one cares of your, to you, very trying life, 
checked quick words and undue aspirations, such as 
* turning yourself into a money bag,' for instance, the day 
has had its work accompHshed. Why^ this is the sum 
of one's mission^ ' talcing the little foxes., and not letting 
them spoil the grapes.'' 

" Now, see how little we know : if I had married a 
rich man, as you said I ought to, where would I have 
8* 



176 COUSm ALICE. 

been? Of what use to myself or any one else? I dot6 
on necessity : she has been a better teacher of philosophy 
than Dr. "Wayland himself. It was rather mortifying, 
when I was first married, that I was not loved for being 
pretty, or for writing stories or books — only for being 
good ! It seemed altogether too much to ask of me, with 
so much else to balance the scale ! But no. If I wanted 
respect and love, I had to keep down impatience, and to 
cultivate domestic virtues generally. I began with that 
for a motive ; now I see the higher one to which that 
was the stepping stone. So all aspiration ends in doing 
to-day^ s duty, and then ' something higher ' is put before 

us. As Dr. G said to me on Friday : ' There is no 

perhaps with God. He is always ready to advance the 
faithful doer.' " 

"When her oldest child was three years old, 
she had three living children. She says in ref- 
erence to this : 

" I used to think I wasted nothing; but I must have 
wasted time, and my three children have been sent so 
dose together to force me to find it out. I know that 
weU." 

What an insight into an earnest, faithful, 
Belf-denying life we find here ! What a lesson 
to the many who admire such a life of bene- 
ficence, and feebly wish that God had given 



IDEAS OF LIFE WORK 177 

to tliem means to do likewise. Here was 
means commanded, strengtli economized and 
garnered, time almost created, and opportunity 
sought for. ]S"otliing was j)etty and unimpor- 
tant, as she says, that led to the accomplishment 
of her large purposes. E'er did she say " My 
work is done," when any one of these seemed to 
be accomplished, and so seek to release herself 
from the pressure she had imposed. There was 
always some one in her mind or her heart, 
ready to fill up the gap made by a necessity for 
influence or care in any dii'ection ceasing to ex- 
ist. She wrote to her brother : 

" I have been intending to write to you for a week or 

more about , especially since poor F 's death 

has left our hearts and minds comparatively free to think 
of one who is quite as near us, and in as great need of 
help in some ways. I have felt as if I have neglected 
him — not being able to see him, he has passed out of my 
mind, and out of my prayers, in some measure. Seeing 
this, I have just written to him." 

Again, when changing one duty fulfilled for 
another, she says : 

" This is less pleasant. We encounter stubbornness 
for gentleness, indifference (outward, I mean) for the 



178 COUSIN ALICE. 

afFectionate gratitude for every attention he gave us ; but 
duty is not the less duty, because distasteful. We have 
seen the result in one case — the miracle of answered 
prayer, and absolute conversion ; let us take heart for 

this harder task, helping '— through the darkness, 

and uncertainty, and peril that surround him. 

" You have personal means of contact. You can seek 
opportunity. If he avoids you, never mind about ' his 
place,' and ' your rights,' or how little your efforts are 
appreciated. If we wait to look after ' our rights,' we 
shall never accomphsh any thing for any one. I don't 
mind his misunderstanding me, or even should I get it, 
which I never shall — real unkindness and ingratitude. 
The Example set before us for our life-work, always re- 
ceived both. We have no right to ask other wages. He 
gives them sometimes. He has done so of late, but not 
as our reward, only as an encouragement to harder, more 
regular tasks, undertaken for His sake, not from mutual 
kind feeling and benevolence." * 

To the same : 

" You have your hands full, without doing any thing 

for E this winter. Do not let it harass you. I will 

give $'5 a month toward her rent. It will be a great com- 
fort in the end to think you have been allowed to help 
her; it ought to be now to you. Still, I know it is al- 
most impossible to count blessings when trouble is hard 
at hand, and you see no way of escape. I know how, 



IDEAS OF LIFE WORK. 119 

with my own strong and tried faith, my heart sinks at 
such a time ; how ungrateful I have heen in distrusting 
Grod's power and abihty to help me, when man's h^lp 
seemed vain. But I so often have had reason to say to 
S., * Man's extremity is God's opportunity.' " 

To a remonstrance at the amount of time 
she gave to her housekeeping, with so many 
other cares on her mind, she replied : 

" I have had every thing to learn, and you 
know how distasteful such affairs have always 
been to me, when I felt at liberty to consult my 
tastes, or rather allowed myself to do it. I am 
beginning to take a little pride in my house- 
keeping. Mrs. Haven, pickling and preserving, 
is very unlike, I grant, Mrs. ISTeal, with a pen or 
book forever in her hand. I do many things in 
the store room and dining room which you were 
never willing to do." 

Such household duties, with a not very ex- 
pert cook, and at first a most inefficient nurse, 
gave her much occupation. Her failures, 
through her inexperience, were very humiliat- 
ing, and she speaks of coming to appreciate 
household' vu'tues for which she did not formerly 
have a due respect : 



180 COUSIN ALICE. 

" T suppose, because people who are famous house- 
keepers are so seldom any thing else, and you know we 
grew up with a feeling of deference for mental culture, 
and of comparative indifference to these same housekeep- 
ing virtues, measuring their value as we measm*ed mental 
growth, against the mere physical comforts of life. Do 
not imagine I am going over to the other side now ; but 
I believe in doing every thing well that is worth doing at 
all. Bodily comfort and intellectual attainment still hold 
their relative position in my respect." 

She wrote this to her sister, who was regret- 
ting that she was entirely shut out of the literary 
world in her country home, and her changed as- 
sociations ; and she adds : 

" I needed the enriching which I get in my present 
life. I should have run to weeds, I fear, if I had kept on 
in the old routine. You do not know how my best life 
was sapped by that continual drain, and how soon I might 
have become entirely unproductive. I need the quiet of 
the country, the rest of these evenings which would seem 
to you so dull, the call to minister where hitherto I have 
been ministered to. My faculty for adaptation has its 
legitimate uses now; and in retm-n I get a thoughtful ness 
and care ever present and so refreshing^ after taking care 
of myself so many years." 

The mutual advantage of their imion she 



IDEAS . OF LIFE WORK. 181 

often remarked, magnifying tlie blessing to her- 
self. Witli all liumilit J and a fiever absent sense 
of her own weakness and need of help, she be- 
came a religions teacher to one to whom she 
looked up with a wife's deference and devotion. 
Her anxiety for his conversion is manifest every- 
where ; and the fear that her inconsistencies are 
his stumbling blocks, keeps her always " at the 
foot of the cross." 

In her journal she writes : 

"I am learning lessons of resistance to despondency, 
but principally that I should pray as earnestly for my 
husband's best good, as I do for his worldly success. 
Yesterday, when my soul cried out — 

' Oh Lord^ how long ! ' 
the answer came — 

" ' Your Seavenly Father Tcnoweth that you have need 
of all these things.'' 

" ' Seelc first the Tcingdom of God and His righteous- 
ness, and all these things shall de added to you.'' 

" I never so fully felt this. We can pray for God's 
blessing on our worldly affairs, if He pleases to give it — 
if it is best for us. 

"But for the rest, we are told to ^ crave^^ 'see^,' 
* JcnocJo,^ ' importune,^ ' thirst,^ and we shall have, if the 
Lord will — if it is best for us. He does will — it is best. 



182 COUSIN ALICR 

We Tcnow it. We do not need resignation, except to 
await His time." 

Site one day checked an exultant remark 
made by a friend, with whom she conld take 
the liberty, by saying : 

" You think, as I once did, so much more of 
the top of the ladder, than of the foot of the 
cross ; " and this remark expressed the wide 
difference which existed between the ambition 
of her early and her later years. Then she said, 
" I am fitted for something higher." IlTow she 
prayed, " My Father, make me worthy to serve 
Thee, no matter how humbly, so Thou wilt ac- 
cept the service." She saw herself formerly in 
the light of her gifts and endowments, and 
through the medium of the world's praises; 
now it was in the light of God's requirements, 
and through the medium of His Word. Her 
successes are often commented upon in her ear- 
lier journals ; in the later are recorded her 
failures and her fresh resolves. 




CHAPTEE lY. 

TEE SPRING I2r NASHVILLE. 

E. HAYEl^'S business engage- 
ments took him to ITasliville 
in the fall of 1855. There was 
before them the prospect of a 
separation for the winter, and Mrs. Haven suf- 
fered very much from depression in view of it. 
The day after he left, the Publishers' Festival at 
the Crystal Palace took place, and she attended, 
with her brother-in-law and her sister, her hus- 
band having persuaded her to promise to do so. 
She was trying to divert a melancholy which 
oppressed her in spite of her trust and confidence 
in God, to whom she turned so unfaihngly when 
clouds lowered about her. 

The gaiety of this brilliant evening, where 



184 COUSm ALICE. 

were assembled the largest number of aiitbors 
and men. of letters ever seen together in om' 
country, probably ; where the sparkling banquet 
was forgotten in " the feast of reason " which 
followed it ; where personal animosities were 
put aside, and the sneer died on the lip of the 
c}Tiic ; where Ii'ving, Bryant, and other patri- 
archs, gave cordial welcome to those who were 
to succeed them in the world of letters ; and the 
young gazed reverentially and lingeringly on 
those whose careers they humbly emulated ; 
where the female writers received their own 
share of courtesy, and gave tone and softness to 
the scene, some fifty of them mingling with 
their benevolent patrons and exemplars; — all 
this, unique and brilliant as it was, made but a 
feeble impression on one who was eminently 
fitted by nature to shine in such a gathering. 
She could not fail to sparkle for the moment ; 
but her heart was heavy, and only that which 
appealed to it was remembered. The record 
made by her of the evening is simply — 

"The scene was charmingly gay and bright, bnt my 
chief pleasure lay in meeting some good friends, and in 



THE SPRING IN NASHVILLE. 185 

the enjoyment of the two Marjs, who would not have 
been there but for me." 

The winter held for her the trial of lingering 
ill health. She complains of a cough, sore lungs, 
and nervous tremors. It was not her first warn- 
ing : eight years before she had had an intima- 
tion of her fate, though she says of it, with the 
flippancy of the age in which she heard the 
prophecy : 

" When the doctor told me that I was threatened with 
curvature of the spine, and that he feared the seeds of 
consumption were already implanted, I laughed at it 
almost scornfully." 

The time was past when such a warning 
could be thus received : she was becoming sen- 
sible of her want of robustness, and remembered 
with dismay her impatience of the wisdom which 
so long ago had bidden her " beware of great 
fatigues." In no part of her journal does she 
speak so humbly of herself, or turn more confid- 
ingly to the promise of strength from above. 

E'ow, too, as always when her time seemed 
short, the claims of others pressed heavily upon 
her. With a friend of like earnest piety she 



186 COUSm ALICE. 

made agreement to set aside certain days for 
special prayer for some who were very dear to 
them both. This had been a custom with her 
before this, and she continued it as long as she 
ived, with great gain, as she believed, securing 
visibly often what she called " the miracle of 
answered prayer." 

During the winter she had great enjoyment 
in having with her, at the Cottage, her brother 
and his wife, her beloved "Marie E." Mr. 
Haven came on to spend ISTew Year's with 
her, and she was especially glad in tlie unex- 
pected reunion. 

A variance existing between some persons 
nearly related, and in whose happiness she felt 
great interest, she attempted a reconciliation, in 
vain, however, and thus she received another 
lesson to wait God's will. She says : 

" In all things this seemed to meet me : ' In returning 
and rest shall ye "be sated. In quietness and conjidence 
shall le your strength. ' In 'patience iiossess ye your souls.'' 
This last I did not understand so well. I know now that, 
weak as I was in body, and surrounded as I was by diflS- 
culties, my strength was to sit still. But, after all, there 
was little need of patience. My whole visit to P. 



THE SPRING IN NASHVILLE. 187 

was marked by instant and almost liourlj strength and 
comfort from above ; and incessant battling with almost 
visible hourly temptations proved this gain." 

At last the fruits of her labor began to ap- 
pear. 

" All goes right for Alice," said F ; " she 

ivill begin to think she has what she prays for 
more than eyer." 

Her throat continuing to trouble her, and 
making no gain in strength, she decided that 
she had better go out to Mr. Haven, in !N"ashville. 

" There is room for faith " (she writes) " in this win- 
ter's journey, in my present health, and in the uncertainty 
of the future. It is the second time that I have left a 
home, and remembered that ' the Lord said unto Abra- 
ham, " Get thee out of the country, and from thy father"^ s 
house into a land that I icill show theey I find an old 
letter in which I went over the same struggle for faith in 
giving up my home with mamma Neal : indeed that was 
a much greater struggle. But this cottage is so endeared 
to us — our first home together, the birth of our little 
daughter, the baptism of our children, all that S. has 
learned here, and the many lessons and blessings that I 
have had, will never be forgotten. How gently the blind 
were led by a way they knew not ! 

" One thing more. Here I have been made to define 



188 



COUSIN ALICE. 



to myself my attachment to the chm'ch, and my faitli in 
its purity ; to love and pray for its prosperity, to ' lift up 
mine eyes unto the hills^ and Jcnoio that the hour cometh 
speedily when all nations^ and Mndred^ and people^ and. 
tongues^'' shall be blessed in our Saviour's long reign of 
peace. 

" This leading came in the shape of one of the most 
subtle temptations I ever was suffered to fall into, which I 
brought upon myself through spiritual pride, growing out 
of things which I have put upon record. Like my other 
temptations, it has ended in a blessing of strengthened 
faith and confirmed hope. The lesson of the last six 
months has been humility, outward and inward. 

" Some persons are preserved in great temptations, 
and often overcome in little daily trials, that they maybe 
humbled, and learn never to trust themselves in great 
things, when they are so weakened by such small things. 
Thou knowest not what is before thee in the way, there- 
fore walk humbly." 



She decided to go to !N"asliville by tlie way 
of Savannali, and arranged to sail on the 27th of 
February. 

" Looking into Bogatsky for a text for the day, I found 
* Satan hath desired to have thee, that he may sift thee as 



wheat; tut I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail 
not. Iicill Iceep thee in the hour of temptation.'' And 
the commentary went on to say, that though we were 



THE SPRING IN NASHVILLE. 189 

often convinced that a course of action Avas riglit and 
best, both by outward appearances and seeming indica- 
tions of Providence, and by inward faitli ; yet it might 
be only a delusion after all. Nevertheless, God would 
ultimately overrule all for the best. 

" More than once I had the feeling that, in deciding 
to go to j!!Tashville, I was acting merely on my own judg- 
ment and wishes, and not following God's direction." 

. Slie then draws pictures of what she fancied 
might be their life in her new home, in which may 
be detected a little weariness w^ith the qniet and 

impatience of the seclusion of her life in M . 

It was in such great contrast to all she had ever 
imagined in her younger days, to be alone worth 
living for ; even her sphere of influence seemed 
narrowing. In another 23lace she might find a 
fresh form of social life, where literary tastes 
were more exclusively cultivated, and the mind 
would receive a new impulse ; not that she in 
the least undervalued the warm, true, and dearly- 
beloved friends, whose affection gave her so 
much satisfaction at M ; friends whose lov- 
ing sympathy followed and surrounded her in 
every experience of her after life, and who wept 
tears of unfeigned sorrow at her grave ; nothing 



190 COUSIN ALICE. 

she knew could compensate for the loss of snch 
friends. But the rich, brilliant tone, the fine 
esprit, which was characteristic of the social life 
she had known in the cities, was necessarily- 
wanting in a country home, and she felt the 
need of it, at least the craving for it, which those 
who are brought from high living to a plainer, 
though it may be a more wholesome diet, will 
sometimes feel for the indulgences of which they 
are deprived. 

She did not excuse or spare herself as she 
came to see the pictures with which she was 
feeding the old love, and which were alluring her 
from a home whose blessedness she had proved. 
She recognizes the " vain glorying " with morti- 
fication and distress, and seeks again the true 
light she felt safe in following. She was goin^g 
to her husband, and their new life promised so 
much time together, " time always for morning 
prayers,'' which the necessity of taking the early 
train to l^ew York sometimes made impossible 

at M ; then her health certainly demanded 

an escape from the rigor of a northern spring ; 
and with these and other sober reasonings, she 



THE SPRma IN NASHVILLE. 191 

tshut out the vain desires wliose very remem- 
brance humiliated her. 

But she was far from happy, or at ease in 
making the change. Speaking of her voyage, 
she says : 

" The sickness of my servant, of the cliildren, and of 
myself, the confusion and novelty about me, kept me 
from the great duties of my life, just as the hurry, and 
worry of preparation had done." 

Of Sunday in Savannah : 

"The heavens are brass; it is scarcely possible to 
pray. An impression of some coming punishment, some 
fall to my pride, hangs over me. 1 pray for it, rather than 
to go on as I am." 

A telegram from her brother reached her ; 
there was no trouble at the E'orth ; he had con- 
cluded to keep Locust Cottage for them, which 
was a great comfort to her. Still the presenti- 
ment continued to deepen, the foreboding of evil 
grew stronger. The next day a telegram came 
from Mr. Haven, saying that he could not meet 
her in Savannah, as had been expected, and this 
was followed by a letter giving her explanations. 
Without warning or chance of redress, the char- 
9 



192 COUSIN ALICE. 

ter of the bank in N"asliville, with which her 
husband was connected, had been repealed on 
the 29th, the day before the legislature of Ten- 
nessee had adjourned for two years ! 

"In one hour our plans were all ended. I was glad 
this blow had come : that I knew the worst. 

" We started for Nashville at five the next morning, 
under the care of my cousin Fred. At such a crisis it 
was impossible for my husband to leave ; but what a 
di'eary journey was before me ! — one that I would scarcely 
have had the courage to undertake, had I realized it be- 
fore I left home. I was barely able to sit up through the 
day at home, and now I asked God for courage to live 
through the night journey, with the care of the children 
coming upon me, foi* my servant was a very inefficient 
woman. At midnight, sick and faint, holding my boy on 
my arm, and striving to endure patiently, the cars stopped 
to allow the train from Chattanooga to pass. I had not 
a single thought of expectation, and I could not speak for 
joy and thankfulness, when, in the dim hght of a crowd- 
ed car, I saw my husband's face bend over me ! " 

This spring spent at ^N'ashville was any thing 
but outwardly comfortable, their stay was to be 
so short, and Mr. Haven was occupied only in 
winding up the business for which he was agent 
for Kew York capitalists; but one hope was 



THE SPRING m NASHVILLE. 193 

realized — their cliildren throve, and her health 
improving some, " was passably good." At this 
time she wrote to a relative at the ISTorth who 
was in mnch trouble : 

" We are so apt to forget that God has more ways 
and means of providing for ns than we can possibly im- 
agine, it is, therefore, folly to seek to confine Him to our 
methods. I am reading Madame Guyon over again, un- 
derstanding it better than ever before. I want you to 
have it when I get home : there are so many things which 
correspond with your experience in the past year, and 
the ' whys' and ' wherefores ' are made plain. I can un- 
derstand your Easter experience so well. S. says he 
would like to begin life over again, with his new views 
and principles. I would not. I am so thankful that 
twenty-nine years are almost gone ; not for their worldly 
cares, I don't think so much of these now-a-days ; but 
that ' the outward fightings and the inward fears ' are so 
far accomplished. Sarah and Fanny, the 'Faithfuls,' go 
upward from the midst of the pilgrimage. But they are 
the very ones who are content to live and bear. Even 
the self-will of wishing to go must be broken. Do you 
know, I think self-will sufiers more than any other sin ? 
The horse and mule must bear the bit and bridle, while 
others are guided by His eye. I think that is the reason 
of many troubles that would otherwise appear to be in- 
coniprehensible." 



194 COUSIN ALICE, 

Here we find the unconscious expression of 
growing power in her soul. The strength of her 
will was great, but her reliance and confidence 
in the overruling of God gave her the extraor- 
dinary poise which especially marked the latter 
part of her life. She was already learning the 
" whys and wherefores," which are full of mys- 
tery to those who close their eyes to the source 
of those influences whose operations disturb the 
course of our lives. She taught herself to trace 
clearly the hand of her Heavenly Father, deal- 
ing with her in love, even though the dealing 
came as a chastisement. Disappointment ceased 
to distress her ; and expectation, crowned with 
realization, only filled her heart with thankful- 
ness to God. 




CHAPTEE Y. 

RETURN TO THE NORTE. 

HEY left ISTashville in April, intend- 
ing to visit Magara on their way 
home, instead of coming by the 
most direct rente. Mrs. Haven 
had never visited the Falls, and she anticipated 
it with great pleasure. Her health was such, 
however, that she knew if she did not go to 
Philadelphia now, she would not be able to do 
so for some time to come, and she did not like 
the idea of not seeing " Mamma N'eal " for so 
long a time. Mrs. ISTeal was very feeble, but 
not more so than she had been for years past ; 
there seemed no special reason why she should 
not live years to come. Still, the idea that one 
or another might die before ar possible visit, as 



196 COUSIN ALICE. 

sailed Mrs. Haven so persistently, that slie per- 
suaded Mr. H. to give np tlie contemplated visit 
to l!^iagara. They therefore returned by way 
of .Philadelphia, and Alice paid the visit which 
it was so much in her heart to make. She found 
Mrs. ISTeal appearing quite as well as at any time 
during the past three or four years. It was a 
great satisfaction to one who regarded her with 
a daughter's affection, that the imexpected visit 
gave the old lady so much pleasure. 

On reaching home Mrs. Haven wrote to her 
sister that they had changed their route, because 
her desire to see Mrs. !N"eal was so great that 
she felt that, this ungratified, she could not even 
have taken any delight in seeing ITiagara. 

"It was impressed tipoii my mind that I must go to 
PMladelpMa^ to see mamma; so I said, 'the Falls will 
keep, friends may die,' and S. kindly, thongli rather 
reluctantly, gave np the plan, and indulged me in my own 
way. I enjoyed my visit very much, and shall never 
regret having made it." 

Mr. Haven brought the letter in which this 
paragraph occm'S, into JN'ew Y@rk to post it ; and 
when it reached its destination, on the outside 
was written in his hand writing : 



RETURN TO THE NORTH. 197 

" A telegram has just came from Philadelphia. Mrs. 
Neal has had a paralytic stroke, and is thought to be 
dying." 

Here seemed to be the key to tlie presenti- 
ment whose expression was so remarkable in the 
letter. 

Mrs. Haven hastened at once to Philadelphia, 
but too late. The visit so insisted upon by her 
was the last interview with her kind friend, her 
" dear mamma," who had so long been looked 
up to with filial reverence. It was a great 
shock, and to her, in her state of health, a fearful 
one ; but in time she could speak of it calmly — 
and she always reverted to that last meeting as 
a special guiding of Providence. 

She says of her return home that spring : 

*' I think I never was so thankful in my life as on the 
night of our arrival at Locust Cottage — our own dear 
home — still ours unchanged. We went from room to 
room saying, ' Oh, this is so nice;' and it was doubly so 
after our uncheerful home in Nashville, and the discom- 
forts of travelling. "We were amongst friends too ! And 
I kept constantly saying to myself: 

* Oh how can words, with equal warmth 
Mj gratitude declare.* 

On the Thursday after our return, S. had to go back 



198 COUSIN ALICE. 

to IsTasliville for a time. I parted with him with the 
most miserable forebodings. At night my brother camo 
out with a letter and telegram, ' Mamma was gone,' and 
I not there ! " 

The summer passed quietly, and but for 
anotlier great shock in the news of a fatal 
accident on Lake George, which occasioned the 
death of Mr. Haven's two sisters, the peace and 
repose of their home life would have been very 
favorable to Mrs. Haven's health. 

On the 13th of September she made the fol- 
lowing record in her journal : 

"A busy day of household care, of weariness, and 
petty disappointment. The 12th had my birthday bright- 
ness. There were no visitors for the first time in two 
months, and I went to my room ' to gather myself to- 
gether' thankfully. The quiet morning was given to 
looking over my papers — burning some, and thinking of 
the many things in the past year that were reasons for 
thanksgiving. 

" My birthday morning was bright and beautiful, but 
my nurse was in town, so my household afiairs were 
delayed ; and I was wearied with attending to these and 
with the care of the children. This will, perhaps, be the 
trouble of the year, though far greater ones may be in 
store. Now it seems more than probable that with three 



RETURN TO THE NORTH. 19S 

little children, the eldest hut three years old, such days 
will be more and more frequent. 

" My text for the day was '-In TJiee^ the fatherless 
findeth mercy .^ Truly it has been so since twenty-six 
years ago to-day my father died. Twenty-three years ago 
to-day since I left my own, for an adopted mother ; ten 
since the great change in my life with which this volume 
of my journal began." 

'■'■ Sex>t.\Mh. 
"Yesterday being such a day, I am writing on the 
Sunday following. The cottage never looked more beau- 
tiful ; the sky, the foliage, the autumn flowers, the softly 
tempered sunshine falling on the lawn. I have said to S. 
so many times : It is a Heavenly day, 

' So calm, so cool, so bright 

The bridal of the earth and sky.' 

"We read the service at home, S. still declining to go to 
church unless I do. The children are very lovely, and 
outwardly there seems no wish ungratified. Even the 
dark day to which I look forward is brightened by un- 
expected blessings. There is no flaw in the happiness of 
this. 

"I find the same striving against, and yielding to, 
Sabbath weariness, even with so much to make me thank- 
fully obedient ; this, and cold, formal wandering prayers, 
are my easily besetting sins. 

" It is afternoon, my boy and his father are going out 
9* 



200 COUSIN ALICE. 

to walk — from the porcli I hear my little daughter's 
sweet haby voice, the most loving, the dearest of little 
ones, shouting, 'Papa, oh, papa! ' " 

A picture of peace and content which might 
well satisfy one whose heart was uppermost, and 
attuned to a recognition of the mercies that 
crowned her lot. There was a deep peace over- 
flowing her life ; its firuits were budding out dur- 
ing the summer, in a work of which we find the 
first mention in a large volume full of memora- 
bilia, such as she was in the habit of garnering 
up to use as material. In much that was left in 
this way we see the inception of work after- 
wards accomplished ; but much remains unused in 
the life that was only too short for the work her 
busy brain had planned. 

In the manuscript volume referred to, is the 
following : 

" In wishing to give a devotional book to the servants, 
I have often been at a loss in the selection ; most of the 
subjects are too advanced in Christian experience, or of 
too high a range of topics for their use. It has occur- 
red to me to select a text and write a commentary, or 
perhaps a prayer and hymn for every day in the month, 
morning and evening — short, because of the numerous calls 
upon a domestic's time, and as simple as may be in ex- 



RETURN TO THE NORTH, 201 

pression and illustration. This I propose to call ' Higher 
Wages,' and to go on with it at intervals, as the business 
of otherwise wasted Sunday afternoons, when I am de- 
tained from evening service. Whether this plan will 
ever he carried out, I cannot say. This, by God's help, is 
the beginning. 

'Locust Cottage, June 15th, 1856." 

Following this are instructions as to where 
papers in reference to this work will be found 
in case of her death. "When she had the book 
planned in this way, and for the class of persons 
mentioned, with the title of " Higher Wages," 
she selected references for the title page. 

" Know ye not that to whom ye yield yourselves ser- 
vants to odey, his servants ye are to whom ye oley ; whether 
of sin unto death^ or of ohedience unto righteousness ? 

" For the wages of sin is death^ lut the gift of God 
is Eternal Life^ through Christ Jesusy 

EoMAN-s, vi. 16th and 23d. 

The first two texts selected for comment 
were: 

" Choose ye this day whom ye will served 

Josh., xxiv. 15. 
" / will give thee thy wages.''"' 

ExoDiJS, xxi. 9th. 

Thus began a work whose plan and scope 



202 COUSIN ALICE. 

were very mucli clianged as slie proceeded, until 
a book, " The Good Report," tlie last her pen was 
ever employed npon, was the result. Instead 
of being suited only to the comprehension of 
the untrained and ignorant, it expanded into a 
summary of the Christian's pilgrimage. There 
are forty days representing the forty years' wan- 
dering in the wilderness; and for every text 
taken from the Old Testament referring to this, 
is a corresponding text from the ISTew Testament, 
confirmatory, explanatory, and exhibiting the 
harmony between the two, which was always a 
favorite study with her. 

This, in time, became her best beloved work, 
and it contains every thing which could make 
such a volume valuable, as the product of a life 
rich in meditation and spiritual apprehension. 
She wrote and re-wrote, and revised with. the 
greatest care, submitting the results of such 
earnest labor, from time to time, to those in 
whose exegetical ability and spiritual insio;ht 
she had reason to place great confidence. 

It is worthy of remark, that this book, con- 
taining from two to eight illustrative texts to 
each page, was written without the aid of a Con- 



R^URN TO THE NORTH. 203 

cordanee, she so literally "searched the Scrip- 
tures:' She said the time this consumed was 
well spent, since she found in the search so 
many passages that were of nse in other places. 
Her remarkable memory was of course of great 
assistance to her; and her long-continued habit 
of reading daily, and of comparmg passages, had 
led to much patient research and great knowl- 
edo-e. Her use of biblical references is always 
beautifully apt, often giving the happiest illustra- 
tions of their meaning. She says of this : 

" I do not think I was ever a student of any thing but 
the Bible. To that I have diligently brought what was 
best in my ability." 




CHAPTEE yi. 

INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 

'IN" tlie spring of 186Y she opened the 
large volume which was not quite 
completed when she died. The intro- 
duction was a brief history of the pro- 
gress she had been making in her spiritual life, 
which every year became richer and deeper. 
On the first page she inscribes for a motto : 

" God's Providence is my Inheritance ;" 

the motto of Eobert Dutton, Mayor of Chester, 
England, who, in 1604, stayed in the city through 
the fearful plague, though all besides, whom the 
disease allowed to do so, deserted the town ; by 
this devotion he lost children and servants. 
Below the motto is an extract from a poem by 
Raleigh :^ 



INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 205 

" Give me my Scallop shell of quiet, 

My staff of Faith to walk upon, 
My script of joy, immortal diet, 

My bottle of salvation ; 
My gown of glory, Hope's true gauge, 
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage." 

From Thomas a Kempis, the following : 

" There is therefore no sanctitj if Tliou, oli Lord, 
withdraw Thy Hand. 

'' No wisdom availeth if Thou cease to guide. 

" No courage helpeth if Thou leave off to defend. 

" No chastity is secure if Thou dost not protect it. 

" No custody of our own availeth if Thy sacred watch- 
fulness be not present with us." 

There are great numbers of short printed 
paragraphs on the leaves usually left blank, yer j 
characteristic selections, some marking particular 
trials or events of her life, or special needs of 
her nature. They are evidently the accretion 
of the years which follow. Many more of these 
selections are lying loose through the volume, 
with here and there a memorial flower. The 
paragraphs are almost entirely of a religious char- 
acter, and evidently were preserved because they 
were considered " helpful." She never allowed 
any thing to escape which would serve herself 



206 COUSm ALICE. 

or others. The letters to her friends frequently 
inclosed such extracts, with a short note or 
comment doubling the force of the comfort or 
lesson conveyed. 

" Gathering up the fragments that nothing 
should be lost," was a source of riches to her all 
the time. The same carefulness which prevent- 
ed waste in her household, and which made her 
hold every possession as one who must give 
account, was a graft of principle. ISTature had 
not made a " Martha " of her ; grace developed 
in her the rarest combination of the two sisters, 
the careful Martha and the devoted Mary, which 
the world has known. 

Here is one of the extracts which her own 
character might have suggested to another : 

"■Charity is a virtue of all times and all places. It is 
not so mucli an independent grace in itself, as an energy 
which gives a last and highest finish to every other, and 
resolves them into one common principle." 

The sketch of her religious life may as well 
be copied entire : 

"LocvsT Cottage, April 5th, 1857. 

"It is eight years ago to-day, by the church calen- 
dar, since the day of my confirmation. That was Palm 



INTRODUCTIOI^ TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 201 

Sunday, April 18tli, 1849 ; and in wishing to get the exact 
date, I am reminded how useful my journal has been te 
me in many ways. I am glad the habit was fixed at 
school. The teachers made a rule that each of the 
scholars should keep a journal. My first was a very child- 
ish and trivial record, showing, however, my peculiar 
traits of character much more plainly than I thought 
then. The next volume, written with occasional intervals 
of neglect, at ISTew Hampton, exhibits all these faults of 
character deepened and strengthened by time. It ends 
with my engagement to Mr. iNeal. 

" The third was commenced as a record of that, and 
of the wonderful future which was opening to me through 
it. There are but few entries before his death. After 
this, it had a higher object. It became a kind of confess- 
ional wherein I accused, and chiefly excused myself in 
the folly of these years. Its chief value is the clear 
record it is to me of the change in the character witness- 
ed against me in the first volume, and confirmed in that 
which gives the history of my girlhood. It is a plan of 
the battle I have fought, and I can trace some of the 
victories gained. There was no plan then. I struggled 
on blindly, with inward and outward faults and adverse 
or fortunate circumstances. 

" The stand-point of this new life is nowhere written. 
It was an afternoon's talk with a simple-hearted, unedu- 
cated man who was going out to China as a missionary, 
impelled by a strong desire to work there. I do not even 
remember his name. For some reason, which also I 



208 COUSIN ALICE. 

cannot recollect, he called on my mother, who was en- 
gaged and sent me to him. I think this was in July, 1846. 
I am certain of the year, for it was shortly after the death 
of my adopted sister Louisa, which had made me for the 
first time very much in earnest. 

" 'It would seem as if you ought to go instead of me,' 
he said, talking of his mission; 'you have had every 
advantage of education and instruction ; I have had none.' 

"I remember meeting all his arguments with great 
flippancy. 

" ' Oh show me what this faith means^ and I will be as 
good a Christian as any of you,' I said. 

" I do not remember what his reply was ; but whether 
from that or a simple inward conviction, I instantly felt 
that ' Faith was not of ourselves hut the gift of God,^ to 
be had only for the asking. I went into my room, locked 
the door, and prayed for a fuU five minutes that faith 
might be given to me. I thought I would begin to read 
the Bible again, asking God to help me understand it. 
This I did more or less regularly from that time. 

" In December of the same year, I came to Philadel- 
phia. Party, opera, theatre, and concert-going followed, 
until sickness and death came. The inward struggle 
went on with more or less directness. . 

" The rest is in the volume commenced ten years ago 
and just closed. It is true that I find the record of Palm 
Sunday, 1849, the day on which I openly devoted myself 
to a better life. "What have I done in these eight years ? 
What uave I learned? How much have I advanced? 



INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 209 

These are tlie questions for to-day. In answering tliese 
my journal is of the greatest assistance to me, for it is in 
some measure a daguerreotype of the day on which it 
was written. I see through all, how my prayers have 
heen answered, often to the letter — prayers that I scarcely 
felt, only knew that I ought to feel at the time. How 
all worldly circumstances have proved for the hest for 
me. How my besetting sins of vanity and self-indulgence 
have followed me — how they have been checked here and 
lopped off there — ^how they have sprung up again when 
least suspected — what gain I have made over them, and 
how they perpetually follow me as ' spiritual pride ' and 
'innocent ease.' 

" I have been reminded that inconsistency is a special 
work of the Tempter, inasmuch as it not only destroys 
the good we have sought to do, but hinders us from doing 
more, or attempting it — that by this we fetter our own 
hands against attempting God's service. 

" The chief end of man being to serve and glorify God, 
how are we to do so ? 

" ' Therein is my Father glorified that ye 'bear much 
fruit. "^ 

" ' Every 'branch thatbeareth fruity hepurgeth that it 
may bring forth more fruit.'' 

"Yet I shrink still from the pruner's knife, and the 
finer's fire. I never pray ' Lord humble me ' that I do 
not cower and tremble in fear of the stroke, for I know 
that He is a faithful hearer and answerer of prayer. 
The great wish of my heart now is that my husband may 



210 COUSIN ALICE. 

be with me in all tMs desire of service and of increase oi 
knowledge. Eight years this has been mj prayer, ' Teach 
him Thy way.' 

" Last Easter Sunday I felt beaten back. Still I did 
not despair. Looking to-day over the past four years, I 
see how great a change is abeady wronght. It is the 
' ear,' bnt let me go on hoping and praying for ' tlie full 
corn in the ear.'' I have commenced a solemn Passion 
week, with this in view, and the good of many of our 
friends. That I may be watchful, and faithful to my vow, 
''Lord Tielp me. That which I see not, teach Thou m<?."' 

"What can be added to this simple story of 
the grace of God working in her soul ? The 
implicit confidence that her prayers were never 
unheeded, has the child-like character which 
carries conviction of its source and inspiration. 
Her nature was not marked by singleness, nor 
her mind by credulity. On the contrary, when 
a girl she was noted for scheming and planning, 
and for carrying out her designs with an amount 
of tact which was so unusual that a lady, who 
was highly accomplished socially, said, after 
watching her with much interest : 

" She has every quality which would command success 
in a Parisian salon. I never saw a woman born out of 
Palis, to such an inheritance of tact." 



INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 211 

This trait, so commonly misused in society, 
because used to furtlier selfisli ends, became one 
of lier most adroit weapons wlierewitli to serve 
otliers, and to promote every good end and aim. 
She consecrated this as religiously as every 
other gift to her Master, whom she lived to 
glorify. 

That she was not credulous was shown in the 
rarity of the cases in which she was ever deceiv- 
ed. She grew every year more and more astute, 
as well as more charitable. Her insight was such 
that evil seemed unveiled in her presence. Her 
own soul undisguised, compelled, as well* as in- 
vited, sinceritv from those about her. She was 
so* unj3inching in self-investigation, she so rever- 
enced TTuth in its every manifestation, that she 
"trod down" the old self "with words of sham- 
ing," lifting her eyes humbly to the cross from 
which she always sought strength and guidance. 

Her filial spirit was marked in the manner 
in which she received what she considered chas- 
tisements from the hand of a Father whose 
wisdom and whose love she never questioned. 
She continually confesses to the involuntary 
shrinking of the flesh, for her courage was not 



212 COUSIN ALICE. 

instinctive ; but iha straggle is soon ended, and 
tlie acknowledgment, " He doeth all things well,^^ 
is heard from lips still white with the agonj she 
had endured. 

Her journal is so feeble a showing forth ol 
the beneficent action of her life, that the tempta- 
tion is great to withdraw the veil her delicacy 
always drew over all the circumstances which 
involved the . feelings of others. Where was 
there trouble or sorrow that her presence, her 
voice, her purse, or her pen could give comfort, 
that they were not offered with a spontaneity 
that showed them to be the offering of a heart in 
full sympathy? And in all, was seen the wis- 
dom she had learned at such a cost. Everv event 

t/ 

of her eventful life had educated her for her 
work. ]^ature and grace alike fitted her to 
counsel and advise, to comfort and sustain ; and 
she who became in the midst of most pressing 
family cares and duties, and in her delicate 
health, and dearly-bought leisure, the rod and 
staff of many a strong, but despairing nature' 
steadying the burden herself till the shoulders 
could take it again, was every day growing more 
and more " like a little child,^'* 



INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 213 

In a letter to a near relation, wliere lier tender- 
ness and earnestness make her ek/qnent, slie 
says of herself : 

" I am harsli and arrogant, and dictatorial by nature. 
Perhaps you cannot understand what I struggle against 
at every step of my own religious enlightenment ; how 
often I am betrayed into saying, ' Lord^ what shall this 
man do ? ' But, dear W., it is Peter's zeal at heart. I 
want !N". to have the inexpressible relief, the abiding 
rest and confidence in every trial, whether it is of God's 
sending, or seems to be of man's working, that this reliance 
on the love, the tenderness, the infinite friendliness of 
Christ has brought to me. No one but my Heavenly Fa- 
ther can know how often, on my knees with prayers and 
tears, I have sought this rest, this stronghold for her, when 
she seemed to buffet back the ministries of His Providence, 
when every thing seemed to be against her. Not that I 
thrust myself in to assume the burden of her cares ; it 
has only been when she has talked to me of them, laid 
them open as one may to the near and dear, that I have 
said, 'Oh that she could take all this to Him, who 
alone could bear it for her.' " 

Herein was the secret of her strength, her 
power, to bear, to do. This was the fountain 
of the waters of Life, of might and healing, 
which, she drank from continually; and continu- 
ally the power of God was manifested in her. 



CHAPTEK YII 

HEU SABBATH. 




ERHAPS no person wlio lias liad a 
religions education was ever free 
from the fetters wLicli snch teach- 
ing sometimes imposes. Reference 
has been made to the church connection formed 
almost in her childhood ; from this she emanci- 
pated herself when she found that what should 
be considered as a stay and guidance was only 
irksome restraint. Whether from this time, 
when in her childish way she first sought to fit 
herself for a membership with the Church of 
Christ, and then as life's allurements opened upon 
her felt her resolution die away in the heat of 
the sun of worldly pleasure — or whether she was 
self-deceived in the foundation of her feelings, 



HER SABBATH 215 

she certainly does not in her private record of 
tliem go back to that period. 

She takes her iirst intelligent -and compre- 
hending impression of her duty to God, as we 
see, from a chance conversation years after, and 
she goes to the Bible itself to be taught. There 
were points in the faith of her childhood which 
did not appeal to her when studying out this mat- 
ter for herself. She gave her confidence to no 
one, but blindly struggled through the mists and 
clouds which necessarily settled over her path. 
As her own strength failed her, she learned that 
from God cometh our Salvation. "When hu- 
man wisdom availed not, she went to the source 
of all knowledge ; and as she read, her heart burn- 
ed within her, and she knew Christ as revealed 
in the Gospel, and followed Him in the way. 
One by one, she settled for herself questions of 
duty, and her life made it plain that she came 
daily into a clearer light and a plainer path. 

As years went by, she recognized the mean- 
ing of the teachings which had made so feeble 
an impression on her early years, and felt their 
value. She had became a communicant of the 
Episcopal Ghnrch, and was always a faithful 
10 



216 COUSIN ALICE. 

adherent to its tenets ; but her " true religion 
and undefiled " could not long be trammelled by 
sectarian infhiences. "When her principles pre^ 
dominated over the tastes wliich were so much 
better satisfied with the service of the Church of 
England, her catholicity increased constantly. 
She always felt that in the bosom of the church 
where she had found repose and shelter, there 
was that which no other form of Protestantism 
could give to her at least; but she questioned 
no one's conscience who differed from her. 
Wlierever the followers of Christ met to pray, 
there she could pray; informed by His spirit, 
she recognized readily the same inspiration in 
others. Her love and reverence for her own 
church was never less than at first, but her 
sympathies grew broader as she came to lay less 
stress on externals, and to remember, in all her 
judgments, what His would be who looketh at the 
heart and judgeth of the intention, •' tsrying the 
reins.'''' 

She said once that it struck her curiously in 
her review of the faith in w^hich she had been 
bred, that she had to r^-learn so much that she 
had heedlessly forgotten, or wilfully unlearned • 



HER SABBATH. 217 

" I find out more and more my indebtedness 
to my Christian training, to tlie influence of the 
sincere piety of the relations who directed my 
childish thoughts. I have had many a weary 
step in seeking the old path. I have great com- 
fort in my inheritance offaithP 

There was no doctrine peculiar to what is 
called orthodoxy, of which she did not make a 
study. She would sometimes say, " I have not 
yet examined this point, and have no definite 
ideas, but I will take it up immediately ;" and 
forthwith she would apply herself diligently 
to a renewed searching of the Scriptures, and 
there would be an accumulation of evidence 
in her mind as passage after passage was found 
and applied, and the question forever settled. 

She read very few doctrinal books; after 
" The Pilgrim's Progress," which she always 
said was next to the Bible to her, her favorite 
volumes were devotional. Thomas a Kempis 
was a daily guide. Taylor's " Holy Living and 
Dying " was always near her. George Herbert 
and Keble were great sources of comfort, and 
many more, Bishop Wilson of the number, 
were constant companions. She had also a 



218 COUSIN ALICE. 

singular fondness for religious biography. At 
first her tastes led to a selection of those whose 
morbid tendencies were in accordance with her 
own; but this yielded, as her mind took a 
stronger tone, to the healthier influences of sound 
thinkers and active workers. She could not 
have much sympathy with the devotee whose 
piety revolved about self, who spent her time in 
morbid self-questioning, her zeal in prayers in 
her own behalf She daily and hourly illus- 
trated her faith by her works, making the tenor 
of her life the most impressive lesson she taught. 

She was once asked, " How do you find time 
to pray for all the world ? I find it takes all 
the time and energy I can secure to pray for 
myself." 

" If you begin by praying for yourself, it is 
very likely you will find time for nothing else ; 
but if you remember others before yourself, you 
will be sure to find the time for ' Lord help me,' 
and feel your need so keenly, that this short 
prayer will comprehend it all." 

Her ideas of a proper observance of the 
Sabbath, were the result of a close investigation 
of the most profitable use to be made of the day. 



HER SABBATH. 219 

She interpreted tlie commandments as slie did 
every thing in the Old Testament, by a com- 
parison with the teachings of Christ. To those 
whose observance was less religions than her 
own, she was accustomed to say: 

"I cannot judge for you, but I know my 
own needs. I know that there are none too 
many hours in the day for the rest from worldly 
care, and for the devotional service for which it 
provides me time and opportunity. I cannot 
believe my need greater than that of others ; but 
I may be mistaken, so I do not judge for any 
but myself. One thing I intend to spare no 
pains to accomplish ; the day shall never be 
irksome to the children." 

In her journal she says : 

"" April %th. 
"The storm is so violent that I do not think there 
can be service. It was a great comfort as I woke this 
morning to think there would be church days all the 
week, that I could carry yesterday with me through it all. 
" When not more than seven or eight years old, I 
used to wake with such a feeling of relief when Sunday 
was over for a whole six days, and I thouglit Heaven 
must be a dreary place when the hymn said : 
'Where congregations ne'er break up 
And Sabbaths have no end.' 



220 COUSIN ALICE. 

This is a different feeling entirely. I am beginning to 
understand the possibility of its being Heaven for that 
very reason. We try to make Sunday a happy day for 
the children, for the remembrance of onr own weariness 
which lasted so many years." 

And tlien follows a passage comparing the 
way tlie Sabbaths were now passed by her hus- 
band, and his satisfaction in them, with those he 
spent when she first knew him — 

" "When he did not come down stairs till ten o'clock 
in the morning, and drove out to High Bridge with a 
sleighing party in the afternoon.- Not very hopeful ! God 
certainly saved me in the rash leap my engagement was. 
I often wonder at it now. He led us to each other for our 
mutual help and comfort. The necessity of watching my 
own conduct and consistency, lest I should put stumbling 
blocks in his path, has been of the greatest service to me ; 
and his firmness has had the best influence over my 
waywardness. Yesterday certainly differed very much 
from that first Sunday of our acquaintance ! 

" Certainly the Sabbath is ' a sign between God and 
man.' They who hallow the Sabbath do win the blessing 
in spiritual if not in worldly gain, as was the old promise 
to the Jews. Keeping the Sabbath properly was one of 
my first strivings and difficulties, and I began to teach 
Sunday School only to keep myself employed, and so to 
lessen temptation. That first year of our marriage, Ms 



HER SABBATH. 221 

ways were so different ; the whole year I grieved over 
unhallowed Sabbaths. Then we made a rnle not to talk 
of business on Sunday. 'Never mind,' I would say, 'we 
won't talk about that to-day.' How many blue hours it 
has turned aside!" 

The Sabbatli beneath her roof was a pecu- 
liarly sweet day. The family arrangements were 
made as far as possible with a view to the con- 
venience of the servants as well as their own. 
Such claims were never overlooked, nor were 
those of the children, although this was Mr. 
Haven's only day at home, and his happiness 
came before all these considerations. With 
what sweet earnestness and tact did she exert 
herself that all should say, " this is the best day 
in the week to me." 

As her children became old enough to attend 
she sent them to the Sabbath School, though she 
carefully attended to the preparation of their 
lessons. She taught them verses of hymns and 
passages of Scripture, explaining every thing to 
them in the simplest manner, and often illus- 
trating with her peculiar aptness and force. In 
the evening often, as they grew older, she was 
accustomed to gather them about the piano, and 



222 COUSIN ALICE. 

teacli them little songs, leading their voices by 
her own ; and as the nurse came for them one by 
one to put them to bed, her " good night " kiss 
had a blessing in it that surely " brought angels 
down " in sleep. 

Then^ she could consult her own tastes, per- 
haps some sacred music, or a chapter or two 
from a wise book, some religious poetry, the 
Bible, and so ended a day hallowed, and profit- 
able to body and soul. She one evening said 
to a guest, whose fine singing of sacred music 
was a very great pleasure to her, in his occasional 
visits, " Will you read me my favorite chapters 
in Hebrews. You know them. Your reading 
of the Bible is a great satisfaction to me. I 
enjoy it as much as your singing ;" and shading 
her eyes with her hand she followed the reader 
almost breathlessly, her reverential spirit mak- 
ing its o^vn vivid impression in the sympathy it 
awoke in all in the room. So she hallowed the 
Sabbath. 

She believed in the ministry of fasting to some 
extent, and writing of it in her journal she says: 

"I have devoted this week to , in special self- 
denial and prayer. Last night I came upon this help and 



HER SABBATH. 223 

encouragement, if I dare take it to myself: ''At tlie le- 
ginning of thy siqjplication the commandment came 
forth.'' This is a familiar Bogatsky text, and was in the 
morning lesson of yesterday. In looking for it to read it 
over I came to tMs. I have never had any faith in fast- 
ing save as an exercise of self-denial. 

'•'■'■ In those days, 7, Daniel, loas mourning three full 
weeTcs.'' 

" ''I ate no pleasant hread, neither came fesh nor wine 
into my mouth.'' 

" ''Fear not, for from the first day that thou didst set 
thine heart to understand, and to chastise thyself, lefore 
thy God, thy words were heard."" 

" It certainly has been so, from the time that I began 
to desire earnestly Him I had followed so long in dark- 
ness, but who had, nevertheless, upheld and led me the 
while. Will it not be so now ? " 

And here we find a hymn written by her 
for Palm Sunday, breathing a spirit of devout 
tlianksgiving and praise : 

Saviour, Thou hast gently led me, 
And my heart would grateful be ; 

Once I heeded not thy guidance, 
Now I press more close to Thee ! 

Then I thought myself sufficient, 
Then I thought my wisdom wise, 

Knowing not Thy strength upheld me, 
Nor the blindness of mine eyes ! 
10* 



224 COUSIN ALICE. 

Thanks for every hidden danger 
"Warded off by watchful guide, 

Thanks for every block of stumbling 
Which Thy hand hath put aside. 

That mine eyes at length are open 
To my weakness, to Thine aid, 

That I heard when night was darkest, 
" It is I, be not afraid." 

Save me. Master, or I perish, 
Darkness, death, are still abroad. 

Still uphold me, still direct me, 
Let me not forsake the Lord. 



CHAPTEE YIII 



CONFIRMED FAITH.. 




" Eabtek Sunday, Aprils 185T. 

'HIS is not what I have been looking for- 
ward to as Easter Sunday. My first 
sensations on awaking were physical 
pain and a sense of lingering suffering. 
" A gray, lowering sky, and an impatient spirit. As I 
came to myself as it were, thankful hope, peace at least, 
and trust were above all other feelings. It is the anni- 
versary of the denial I seemed to have last Easter, which 
has been present with me all day. Tliat was the repulse ; 
the silence I had had before. Still I was not left to 
doubt that the answer would come at last to aU I had 
so long prayed for. 

" Now it is raining heavily. The day, after all, suits 
me better than one of brightness. ' Christ Ms risen in- 
deed.'' I am grateful. I desire to be thankful as I have 
never been before for His precious death and burial, and 



«20 COUSIN ALICE. 

His glorious resurrection and ascension. My heart is 
keeping the feast, even through my tears, / Tcnow in 
whom I JiavG delieved. I Tcnow that my Redeemer liveth. 
I desire to be thankful for all He has shown me of Him- 
self and His kiagdom, here and hereafter, during the last 
week especially. He has rewarded my unfaithful vigil. 
It was to be for others, but the prayer hath turned to my 
own bosom. ''All thy promises are faitJifulness and 
truth.'' ' He that goeth forth iceeping shall come again 
with joy.'' This softly dropping rain shall cause the 
green grass and the flowers to spring up when the sun 
follows it." 

ghe then puts on record some of the sugges- 
tive thoughts of the week : 

" Death, the last birth pang, and so to be borne with 
fortitude. 

"Mothers know most of Christ's sufferings; the ap- 
prehension, ' how am I straightened till it Ije accomplish- 
ed ; ' the agony, the support in suffering. 

" Women not only ' last at the cross, and first at the 
sepulchre,' but the especial messengers to call men to 
' come and see where the Lord lay^^ when they are faithful 
• wives and mothers. 

"Zeal and Love set out together: Love outrunneth 
Zeal, yet apprehension, a part of love, makes it pause ana 
hesitate. Zeal presseth forward and seeth the burial 
clothes first, but love first helie'ceth. 

" Zeal is appointed to strengthen the brethren under 



CONFIRMED FAITH. 227 

worldly temptation and suffering. To love is given the 
highest revelation of the life to come, the end of proph- 
ecy. 

" Flowers a type of the purity of Eden, a pledge of 
the beauty and perfection of the new Earth." 

["He that desireth to keep the grace of God, let him 
he thankful for grace given, and be patient in the taking 
away thereof. Let him pray that it may return ; let him be 
cautious and humble lest he lose it." — Thomas a Kempis.] 

" April 16th. 

"I have several times thought of a group of sonnets, 
to be called ' The Cradle and the Cross.' This morning I 
said to baby, 'that grateful little smile!' S. said, 'that 
reminds me of the chickens in Pilgrim's Progress, how 
they look up as they drink.' I thought of this afterwards. 
The helpless little thing knows my voice, and whoever 
has her, or however she may be carried, turos her head 
and smiles when she 'hears it. 'My sheep know my 
voice.' Yesterday this occurred to me; I take away 
hurtful, though most attractive playthings, an(X substitute 
those less desirable but safe. 

" This was a comfort in Keble this morning. I have 
been so heavy-hearted at times this week : last night S. 
said, ' It is my turn to be encouraging — Set your affee- 
tions on things above. Isn't that what you teP me ? ' 

" ' Reviye our dying fires to burn, 
High as the anthems soar, 
And of our scholars let us learn 
Our own forgotten lore.* 



228 COUSIN ALICE. 

" Then, too, on a sheet of printed matter, which I 
was consulting about some business affair, I found that 
hymn of Uhland's : 

** * Friend, thou must trust in Him 
Who trod before 
The desolate paths of life.' 

" If these things do me so much good, why may not 
my thoughts help some one else ? It is because there are 
such floods of weak, tiresome verses, that I do not write 
more ; so many self-deceiving, that I do not want to be 
one of them." 

" The only thought that I have for my book to-night 
is not clear. Yet something suggested by the subject of 
the week. 

" ' And heginning at Moses and all tlie prophets^ he 
expounded unto tJiem in all the Scriptures the things 
concerning himself.^ 

"The necessity of our acquaintance with the Old 
Testament, not only in the way of example and en- 
couragement, but to he able to understand types and 
prophecies as regards our Saviour and His work of Ee- 
demption. 

"Again, ' Their eyes wereholden till the treaTcing of 
'bread.'' 

" Often those who have walked with Jesus and learn- 
ed much from Him, do not reahze His presence tUl the 
breaking of bread, especially the Sacrament." 



CONFIRMED FAITH. 229 

These scattered thoughts, and hints for 
thought, reveal what was occupying her mind, 
giving it purpose, and leading, in the case of 
material gathered for her book, to accomplish- 
ment. The group of sonnets was never achiev- 
ed, though in the manuscript volume before 
referred to, are many thoughts preserved with 
the design of working them up for the sonnets. 
She judged, as we all are apt to do, of the 
utility of these thoughts and suggestions, by the 
service they had done herself. That which 
brought her help or healing she knew could not 
fail to benefit another. A " Common Place 
Book " could be easily made of " helpful " pas- 
sages of prose and poetry copied or referred to 
by her. From some she extracted their sweet 
wisdom, and nourished and strengthened those 
who turned to her to be fed. With all she en- 
riched herself, and provided for the demands she 
constantly received, to which so very few in this 
world are at all capable of responding. " Served 
herself by every sense of service rendered," 
to live and serve were identical in her mind. 
She forgot the endurance which in pain and 
weakness she could not but experience. She 



230 COUSIN ALICE. 

trod beneatli lier feet the selfish pleasures which 
are the sole object in life of so many of her sex — 
of all persons, indeed, both men and women ; for 
of the two, perhaps the scale would turn more 
readily in favor of the self-denial of women ; and 
all this she seems to do with the singleness and 
unconsciousness which guarantee sincerity. She 
nowhere dwells upon it ; she nowhere exacts it 
of herself as one who wrestles with self for the 
reward of virtue. It was the spontaneous off- 
spring of the inner life ; the natural growth of 
principles so deeply implanted, so thoroughly 
inwrought, that you saw them only in their 
fruits. 

Her beloved book had gradually changed in 
character and now in name. She called it " The 
Good Eeport ;" its motto was " A Good Beport 
through Faith.''^ She does not often allude to 
it in her journal, never except in the vague 
manner seen in the quotations already made. 
But there is another volume which seemed to be 
the treasure house for the wisdom garnered for 
her book. " The Good Report " became a rec- 
ord of her inner life, of her hours of meditation, 
©f the comfort and strength which she drew 



CONFIRMED FAITH. 231 

from the Scriptures, in which she found the 
witness she sought of her Redeemer, and the 
promise of Eternal Life. 

For years one wish, one hope, was deepest 
in her heart, nearest to her lips in the hour of 
supplication, uppermost always in her thoughts — 
the conversion to the faith and practice which 
marked her life, of one most near and dear to 
her. Many pages record the struggle, as " hope 
deferred " made her faith sometimes waver ; and 
then follow the assurances which she repeats to 
herself, and which nourish her conviction that 
" praying breath is never spent in vain." Others 
whom she loved, many for whom she saw her 
friends interested, and for whom she prayed, 
came from time to time " into the enclosure of 
the church," and stiU she endured the trial of 
her faith ; her husband, and her beloved, only 
brother, had never knelt beside her to receive 
the symbolic bread and wine. 

" Once," she says, " my hopes died out, and 
a great temptation to distrust, and despondency 
overwhelmed me. Indeed, after this I had 
many such temptations." 

She writes: 



232 COUSIN ALICE. 

" One Sunday, utterly discouraged by a dinner table 
talk, I rose and left the table ; taking up my Bible, I re- 
member I came upon the text : 

" ' We have toiled all night and have taken nothing. 
Nevertheless at Thy icovd I will let down the net."* 

" I came up stairs and prayed for help to do my duty 
by myself at least, and then began to write a chapter of 
'The Good Eeport.' As I finished S. came up stairs 
looking for me. 

" ' Why do you stay up here in the heat ? ' 

" ' To keep myself employed, and from breaking the 
Sabbath.' " 

A conversation followed, wliich, she sajs, 
gave Iter great cheer; and not long after this, 
comes a record of a Communion service, too 
tender and sacred to give to others' ejes than 
those to whom she had opened her anxious, 
loving heart. 

There seemed really now to have come a 
turning point in many things which had occa- 
sioned her concern ; and she prefaces an account 
of some circumstances which made their future 
prospects brighter, with these words : 

" How often have I said to S. ' Beek first the 
Kingdom of Heaven^ and oil else shall he added.^ " 

As another Easter approached, she writes : 



CONFIRMED FAITH. 233 

" This is, in all probability, the date of brother's Con- 
firmation, and my mother writes me that K. will proba- 
bly be baptized on Easter Sunday. How thankful I am 
that I took courage to speak to her last summer, else she 
would have been gathered in without my having ' part or 
lot in the matter,' when she belongs to me so nearly too ! 
In her letter to me she says, 'I had almost resolved to 
give up trying, when you spoke to me. I have since 
thought that was the word in season.' Yes, and I re- 
member how I delayed ' the word in season ' day after 
day, and went to her at last, with so little courage. I 
will have more faith in these impressions for particular 
people." 

K. was lier young lialf-sister, the onl;^ child 
living of her mother's second marriage. Mrs. 
Haven had been a particular favorite of her 
step-father's, and was at home during much of 
the little girlhood of this sister. After her step- 
father's death she had charged herself with the 
direction and expense of K.'s education, out of 
love for the child and grateful and affectionate 
remembrance for the father. She constantly 
speaks of her as " my sister and adopted child." 

Replying to her mother's letter she says : 

" I do not think there is the least reason for doubt or 
discouragement for her. The settled determination by 



234 COUSIN ALICE. 

God's help is the thing, and we have no right to doubt 
that our sins are forgiven the moment we ask for it in 
God's appointed way. Our natures still remain the same, 
only the principle of action is changed, a desire to do 
right, and a dependence on God's help, taking the place 
of indifference and actual wrong doing. Sanctification is 
another matter, and people are so inchned to confound 
the two. If people who have heen ten and twenty years 
trying to do right, give way to temper or any besetting 
sin, a person just commencing has no reason to be dis- 
couraged because overtaken in a fault. They are only to 
ask instant pardon, not to let it hang over them as a 
discouragement, and ask more grace of watchfulness for 
time to come. Praying and watching with all persever- 
ance, and the study of the Bible to know what to do, and 
to avoid, are at every stage of life the special duties, and 
the warfare with self^ ' the good fight of faith ' goes on • 
to the last. Literally a '■warfare^'' with daily battles, 
losses, or victories ; but this is all meant for K. herself, 
and what I intended writing to her." 

" With K.'s letter, came a most discouraging one from 
Mr. H. (This was an old gentleman for whom she had a 
tender and great respect, but whom she regarded as in a 
fatal religious error.) "We have been writing on the sub- 
ject of the authencity of the Bible, and the Divinity of 
Christ, during the whole winter. The correspondence 
grew out of this: After poor O.'s death last spring I 
wrote him a letter, and remembering my cowardice in 
acknowledging the great principle of our faith — Christ 



CONFIRMED FAITH. 235 

the only way of Life — I spoke of it indirectly, thongli 
clearly. He replied to me soon after, and takinj? note of 
what I had written, said he had had to unlearn many 
things taught him in his childhood, sucli as the existence 
of a state of future punishment, the general deluge, etc. ; 
in short, defining his religious faith as a simple belief in 
the existence of an all-wise, all-powerful creator, the 
supreme Good or God, and that for the future every 
thing depended on our reverence for Him, and on our 
good conduct. 

" This last letter, after I have exhausted every argu- 
ment in my power, is very, very discouraging. "Were it 
not that ' the things that are impossible with men, are 
possible with God,'' I should despair of any change ; but 
I know that the Holy Spirit is all-powerful, and that 
prayer will be answered, therefore this fast I keep for 

him and especially for Mr. F . I hope it is not wrong 

to pray as I do for so good a man. It seems the height 
of presumption and of arrogance for me to think him in 
the wrong ; and yet he is, if ' all Scripture is given by in- 
spiration of God.'' What else can the whole line of 
type and prophecy of a Saviour mean ? How else can it 
be reasonably interpreted ? 

" Another evidence to me of his error, is the paralyzed 
condition of his church : no earnestness, no vitality, no 
anxiety for the general distribution of the Bible, no 
earnest prayer that all the ends of the earth may have 
the Gospel, as well as ourselves. They cannot love 
Christ as we do. He is to them but a teacher, a perfect 



235 COVSm ALICE. 

and holy example ; to us He is ' God manifest in the 
Jiesli^'' dying for us, bearing our sins, our sorrows not 
His own, our Saviour, our Eedeemer the Way, the 
Truth, the Life, the new and living Way, the only access 
to God the Father, ' Who loved and gave Himself for us.^ 

" * Love so amazing so divine 

Demands my soul, my life, my all.' 

" A teacher cannot inspire this, a simple witness of 
the truth, a martyr. They say ' Socrates died more 
calmly.' How can they thus deny their Lord! 

" I pray for Mr. F . Here again is an impossibil- 
ity, but for the all-powerful voice that turned Saul's 
Jewish zeal into Paul's Cliristian earnestness. I pray for 
him, because he has such a weight of influence with his 
friends, in his church, in the community. Once fully 
aroused, like Paul, he would sway all hearts by his elo- 
quence and weight of argument, by testimony. If I am 
wrong in this feeling may God forgive me. If my mo- 
tives are unholy, purify them. Let me in all things 
desire only the glory of God. Let this be indeed my 
chief end and aim, out of a pure heart, fervently. Now 
if ever, in the midst of such a general advent call ^pre- 
pare ye the way of the Lord^ such miracles as these I 
seek, may come to pass. 

" I scarcely receive an ordinary letter in v.^hich con- 
versions are not spoken of. Father B. may be right. I 
said to him : ' When do you think the good time of tho 
thousand years will come, father ? ' 



CONFIRMED FAITH. 237 

" ' In October, 1857, before the Indian Conquest, or the 
general interest in Africa, throiigh^r. Livingstone, or yet 
the bombardment of Canton ; before the panic had fairly 
unfolded, or Union prayer-meetings were thought of, I 
said : " In not far from sixteen years, those who are living 
will see its commencement. I am bound to believe in it 
by every rule for the interpretation of prophecy." ' 

"'And do you think it. will be a visible reign of 
Christ?' 

" ' ]!^o ! 'M.J idea is that it will be a general prepon- 
derance of Christian principle, and therefore of the best 
good of nations throughout the globe.' 

"If '•the secret of the Lord is with them that fear 
Rim^ father must be trusted with knowledge beyond 
any one I know of. 

" At all events this has given me great help and com- 
fort this winter — to looTc for Sis appearing. ' My soul 
will loatch for Him more than they icho watch for the 
morning.'' " 




CHAPTEE IX. 

LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE. 

OCUST COTTAGE was only separated 
by a hedge and a low growtli of 
S©^S ornamental shrubbery from the 
grounds of one of the oldest resi- 
dences in the township of Eye. The house, 
which stood upon a knoll elevating it consider- 
ably above the cottage it overlooked through the 
trees, was very unpretentious, but the grounds 
were lovely and threaded by walks, every one 
of which would have pleased the eye of the critic 
whose " line of grace and beauty " is so famous. 
When J. Fennimore Cooper began his career as 
a writer, " Closet Hall," as the place was then 
called, was his residence, and his first novel, 
" Precaution," bears that date. Closet Hall is 



LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE. 239 

still its name amongst some of the old county 
families. 

This pretty place, whose late owners and" 
occupants had become intimate friends of 
Mr. and Mrs. Haven, was very much admir- 
ed by them. It was unoccupied now, and 
Mrs. Haven often wished they were able to 
remove to it. The feeling was appreciated 
and shared by her husband, who without her 
knowledge began negotiations for its purchase. 
She says : 

"On IsTew Year's day, 1858, we walked about the 
grounds, and S. told me for the first time of his losses 
during the fall (alluding to the disastrous " panic " of 
1857), and said that the money he lost then would have 
purchased this place. For awhile ' we played at owning it,' 
and amused ourselves with planning alterations. But by 
and by we came down from the clouds, and home again." 

This was written in utter unconsciousness 
of her husband's intentions. 

Before spring, however, the secret came to 
light, and she was delighted with the prospect of 
so pleasant a home of " their very own." She 
wrote to her sister : 

"In the winter it will be sunny and ccsy; in the 
11 



240 COUSm ALICE. 

summer with its trees, and its deep verandas, we can live 
out.of doors in the shade. The low French windows in 
front open on a deep piazza, which is overgrown with 
roses. This was one of tlie improvements made by Mr. S., 
whose taste has done so much for the grounds, and whose 
ownership has very much improved the place, I am told. 
Apart from the satisfaction of having a home of our 
own — associations go a great ways with me, you know. 
Do you remember one moonhght walk through the 
grounds in the summer evening when the air was heavy 
with the perfume of the flowers, especially the tube roses, 
with which we came home laden ? A few such remem- 
brances will cure me of the spell the moonlight has held 
over me ever since those nights of agonj during that 
first dreadful spring in Seventh street. I shall take nature 
back to my heart in our new home, and open to her every 
influence." 

On the lawn each side of the house were 
clumps of fine old "Willows. These now give 
name to the place; and after this spring we find 
her dating from " The "Willows." There are 
few records in her journal which refer to the 
change. In her little business diary, a small 
book kept with more regularity than the journal, 
she writes : 

" Feb. etTk, 

" I gathered up the loose ends of business, and quieted 
my mind for Sunday." 



LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE. 241 

" Found it hard to keep from talking and thinking of 
the new home, but tried not to." 

" %th. 
" Concluded to take it, but I find it will be difficult to 
give up the Cottage." 

In lier journal slie writes : 

'•'April 3f?, Eastee Eve. 

"I am sitting by the open window in the delicious 
hush of a balmy atmosphere. A true Easter Even, hush- 
ed, watchful, but not sad. 

"I have enjoyed my practice hour very much, and I 
begin to feel that I have more control of the instrument 
again. It is a great and fresh pleasure, and grew out of 
my determination to give half an hour at least of every 
day through Lent, to the practice of church music on the 
piano. I think so much of my improvement because of 
our Sunday evenings at home, and the more as the chil- 
dren grow older." 

" April Uli^EhWiWR. Sunday. 

"To show how thankless our hearts are, I have 
absolutely to drive myself to make a record of the anni- 
versary when my faith was so sorely tried, and which 
also saw it most abundantly confirmed. I looked forward 
to it only to find the morning distracted, first by a self- 
discussion about wearing a new bonnet, and when in 
church by the singing of the amateur choir, after all our 
week of practice. I record the evil as I would the good, 



242 COUSIN ALICE. 

nor is it a new thing to say how strange that the mind 
should he so distracted by trifles after the most earnest 
thoughts. These frivolous thoughts died away at last, 
und I prayed at least to be grateful for my husband's 
presence beside me. For K. and T., the first communion 
of each. ' Surely my cu'p runneth over.'' I had no time 
to write that day, and this seems so cold a record, so un- 
thankful ; my desires so much less earnest, my life so 
selfish, my aims so wandering ! 

" This may be the last entry I shall make in Locust 
Cottage. Four years ago I came out here looking for a 
home. What a home it has been, my journal bears 
record. Then we had one child, no settled prospects. 
Here we have gone through manifold chastenings and 
corrections, but all in love. Every day's journey in the 
wilderness has had its pillar of guidance, and its food 
from Heaven. 

" In my reading during the whole week before S. was 
reelected to the Board, I came upon many promises that 
the Israelites should enjoy abundance and plenty in the 
good land. they had gained. Sometimes it crossed my 
mind that God was going to give us a worldly prosperity' 
as well as spiritual gain ; but I did not dweU upon it at 
all, though I remember especially noticing the cessa- 
tion of manna, '■and on that day they did eat of the corn 
of the land.'' So it has been with us, since we have eaten 
of the corn, God's gift, as well as the manna. 

" So far we have been fuUy justified in our decision 
*ji regard to our change of homes. * The Willows ' has 



LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE. 243 

been thoroughly repaired, and put in the nicest order, 
and is now nearly ready for us. Next Sunday will prob- 
ably be our last here. ' If Thy presence go not idUJi vs^ 
carry us not up hence,'' we have prayed from the first." 

" The last Sunday in Locust Cottage, where we have 
been so happy, and blessed so far beyond our expecta- 
tions. I have seldom prayed for worldly prosperity, only 
for freedom from actual pressing care, never for a piace 
of our own. 

" Here I have learned most of what I know of God's 
goodness and love to us, all of Christ that I now com- 
prehend. Here prejudice and indifference has been over- 
come in S., and we have commenced family prayers and 
dedicated all our children to God's service. Two of them 
were born here ; all are in health ; truly for ourselves we 
seem to have nothing to ask ! 

" Four years ago this month since I came out here, 
looking for a little sheltering home ; how blessed it has 
been ! I remember praying in the cars that God would 
direct my choice. I do not doubt that the prayer was 
answered. I knew nothing of the icay, oi first causes, or 
second causes, or the ' suspension of natural laws ' of 
which people argue. I have no other argument than 
that of the blind man in the Gospel, ' TMs one thing 1 
Icnow, that ichereas I was Hind, now I see,'''' and that I did 
trust with implicit faith in God's guiding Providence, and 
every event of our lives proves that we have been led in 
precisely the way that was best for us. 



244 COUSIN ALICE. 

" It seems scarcely possible that I am to pass through 
such heavy trials again in the future; these past few 
months have been such ' a rest round about from our 
enemies^ outwardly in the body^ and inwardly in the soul^'' 
that I shrink from the necessity of preparing for further 
conflicts. Yet I know such must be before me. 

"I think sometimes that God has given ns this new 
home as a trial of our submission to His will, when He 
sees fit to take it away again ; or perhaps I may lose my 

husband, or . But I thank God that it is all in His 

hands ; ' I desire to be content to do Thy will, oh God.' 
I rest in the knowledge that '- loith Him there is no 
variableness^ neither shadow of turning ; ' that He has said, 
/ loill not leave thee nor forsalce thee ; ' that there is no 
loss in Him. The actual truth of God's watch care, and 
Christ's faithfulness, is like ' the shadow of a great roclc in 
a weary land.'' 

"'ZsTot that I should be sure of being so submissive and 
patient if the ti'ial come. I know from my last week's 
experience that I am only good when guarded from temp- 
tation, cheerful because of prosperity, amiable when I 
can control circumstances. I am glad of the lesson, and 
of this morning's lesson, tliat I must learn to be content, 
to be counted least, and even to have failed when I am 
really trying to do my best. I see my temptations to 
self-indulgence in habit, and in spiritual self-denial. I 
plan much, but trifles seem to come between me and 
the accomplishment. I am silent when I might make 
an opportunity to speak for the good of others, and break 



LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE. 245 

down by my careless example where I have been trying 
to build up. These are some of the things I see, yet I 
beheve — 

*' In doing is the knowledge won 
Of seeing what remains undone ; 

Let this our pride repress, 
And give us grace, a growing store. 
That day by day we may do more 

And may esteem it less." 

She speaks liere of sometimes allowing oppor- 
tmiities to converse with others on their best in- 
terests to pass -unimproved. This was certainly 
a self-condemnation, like many others which she 
makes, which only a very sensitive conscience 
could have suggested. She employed many 
ways of approaching those about her, and every 
thing became an occasion for a good word. If 
she was in town and had business at her pub- 
lishers, their testimony is that she seldom went 
away without turning to account some chance 
to utter a word in season. " She seldom went 
away without my feeling that I was the gainer 
by her visit," said one ; and another remarked : 
" When she closed the door the sun seemed to 
have gone under a cloud." 

In her home, if a servant spoke impertinent- 



246 COUSIN ALICE. 

Ij, or gave way to ill-temper, she was accustom- 
ed to say : 

" I cannot talk to you now, when you are 
angry; go and say your prayers and then we will 
talk this matter over." 

And said one who bore this witness to the 
grace of her beloved mistress after many years 
of service : 

" I used to be angry very often, ma'am, for I 
have a quick temper, but Mrs. Haven never lost 
her own temper; and I would come back so 
ashamed after saying my prayers, that she found 
me quite ready to listen to her, and it did seem 
she might be growing proud-like that I was 
getting humble at last, and more patient." 

If no occasion should come for a serious 
word which it might be on her mind to say to a 
guest, during a visit, the visitor would find on 
departing a note slipped into the hand with the 
" good-bye " clasp, or the same would take place 
when exchanging greetings on leaving church, 
as is the habit with country families. These ex- 
pressions were not the result of sudden impulses, 
but of earnest and prayerful interest, accumulat- 
ing for days, and months even, during which her 



LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE. 247 

anxiety for lier friend would sometimes keep her 
wakeful and prayerful during tlie night watches. 
She once wrote to a very intimate friend : 

" I do not know how I should bear the almost painful 

interest which I feel in if I could not cany the 

whole matter to God, and leave it with humble trust in 
His hands. It is such an inexpressible relief to feel, in 
my own helplessness, that there is One, who is all- 
powerful, and who has promised to hear and answer 
prayer. I think if I could not feel this with all the 
assurance which the promises bring me, I should sink 
under the solicitude I cannot put out of my mind. N'ow 
I can do a little in my small way, but I have such a con- 
Gdence that God can do all else that is needed," 
11* 



PART III. 



READY FOK KEST. 



PART III. 



READY FOR REST. 



CHAPTEK I 

TUE WILLOWS. 




HE beautiful spring-time found tlieni 
in their new home, the last and 
most beloved home on earth of 
Alice Haven. The strong attach- 
ment which she always felt for the " sheltering 
roof," and the abode of peace and comfort, 
sprung up at once in " the heavenly place," as 
she sometimes called it, which was now their 
own. In thick shoes, and a broad garden hat, 
she spent as much time as she could command 
on the lawn, under the old trees, training the 



250 COUSIN ALICE. 

vines and trimming tlie shrubbery, or in the 
recess of the grove enclosed bj the carriage 
drive. To watch the light figm^e flitting about, 
the bright eyes, and still blooming cheeks, eyes 
lustrous now with the happiness of her daily 
life ; it was scarcely possible to anticipate the 
actual future. But to her eyes there was a 
cloud, not yet larger than a man's hand, in the 
distance. Her perfect happiness was too much 
without alloy to last in such a world as ours." 
On the Tuesday of Whitsun week she writes : 

"We have been here just a month, and are now 
thoroughly established. Every thing is bright and beau- 
tiful around us ; the house, the lawn, the garden, are all 
in perfect order. I had made up my mind to have no 
carriage yet, but that too has come ; so every thing hap- 
pens to me — ^just as soon as I am ready to do without it, 
it seems to be given me. I am afraid of all this. It does 
not seem right to have no trials. I dread a sudden thun- 
der cloud in my serene sky. So many better people toil 
a lifetime for nothing, spending their days in trouble and 
difficulty. Still a trial of my faith. I only see it in that 
light. Whether our hearts will be lifted up to forget 
that God gave it to us, and to neglect the increase of 
service to others which He will require at our hands, or 
whether we should be content to part with it at His 
recall. 



THE WILLOWS. 251 

« 'In all times of our prosperity 
Good Lord deliver us.' 

And the closing verse of my morning lesson comes to me 
with a special significance, ^ LittU children Tceep your- 
selves from idols.'' " 

She then draws a contrast between her life 
and that of a mueh-tried friend who had been 
bereft, within a short period, of family, fortune, 
al^iost of a home, and asks why her lot was so 
much more blessed, and how she could best 
make " grateful attestation " for God's goodness. 
Ofher friend she says: 

" She has honored her Heavenly Father, and proved 
that He is faithfal who promised, by glorifying God ui 

the fires. 

"I say to myself, shall these things come upon me ■ 
I often picture myself alone, struggling on with ill-health ; 
,nd I have exhausted imagmation in plans to real- the 
chUdi-en, and to provide for them. But I have the same 
promises, the same assurances that she had, and her ex- 
..mple to recall, together with my own mother's more 
cheerful trust, more active chai-ities, and more undoubt- 

ing faitli. 

<< 'No change of time shall ever shake 

My firm dependence, Lord, on Thee.' 

"It SO often rises up in my mind, my Rock, my 



252 COUSIN ALICE. 

Fortress, my Defence, my Stronghold, to which I con- 
tinually have resort. I Hke all this so mnch. 

" I have had some special hindrances since I came to 
this house, growing out of the disorderly condition of 
affairs, and the difficulty of making new arrangements 
about the distribution of work, etc. The children took 
heavy colds and were all sick together ; my time has been 
crowded and broken in upon, my prayer time stolen 
away, but God has been very good to me, and I am not 
left to the long-continued spiritual depression which T 
60 much dread since my Nashville experience, and wliich 
arises from just such temptations, ill health, and in the 
commencement, over-confidence in myself. 

" All seems prosperous now. We have all that heart 
could desire. ' Confidence toward God^ dependence on 
our Saviour. Very little do we Icnow of either, but we 
desire to know more. My .eyesight (she was fearing 
gradually losing her eyesight), and the constitutional 
tendency to consumption, which S. has, are the only 
shadows on our path. So David must have felt when he 
wrote, ' Tlie Lord is my Shepherd.^ How beautiful, how 
very beautiful that is! It is the only language which 
will now express my thoughts. 

" Yet our present position is only a moderate compe- 
tency ; and there are many who would smile if they could 
see what I have written, and seeing my daily hfe might 
wonder perhaps how I could be happy, situated just as I 
am. I try to remember this when I am inclined to pity 
people in very humble life. I know a new piece of fur- 



THE WILLOWS. 253 

aiture, or a coveted carpet makes them as happy as our 
new home does us ; and ' a whole floor to themselves ' is 
quite as much as our house to us, long desired, as little 
expected, and as greatly rejoiced in. 

"I did not intend to spend my morning this way, but 
in an*anging ' The Coopers ' for pubhcation. It is my 
week's work, and I have not touched it yet. I felt that I 
ought to make this record. I shall be glad one of these 
days to have it, I know. 

" I am reading ' Cecil's Eemains,' and am dehghted 
with it. Two thoughts especially please me thus far: 
Duties are ours, events are God's, 

" ' What I do thou Jcnowest not now, lut thou shalt 
hnow hereafter; is the universal language of God in His 
providence. He will have credit at every step. He will 
not assign reasons. He will exercise faith. 

"And if this should be my closing 'credit' to my 
Heavenly Father, let it be that ' Goodness and mercy have 
followed me all the days of my life,' especially in the 
losses and prosperity of my husband." 

"When we remember that Mrs. Haven was 
the mother of three children when the eldest 
was but three years old, that she was always 
constitutionally delicate to fragility, and when 
we consider the constant demand made npon 
her strength, we can realize in some measure the 
amount of principle and of determination which 



254 COUSIN ALICE. 

was needed to sustain her in a life onerous 
enough without any of the business engage- 
ments which she so faithfully fulfilled. 

When she was married she had little knowl- 
edge, as she confesses, of housekeeping, carried 
on with that attention to details which an ex- 
perienced housekeeper bestows involuntarily. 
There had never been an opportunity for her to 
acquire this experience, and the work had no 
special attraction for her. In her Philadelphia 
home, order, neatness, and regularity prevailed. 
Iler own large sleeping-room, her study, and the 
drawing-room were all arrangt;d with feminine 
taste, and the daintiness instinctive to ladyhood 
But housekeeping with very young children, 
and a limited number of servants, taught her 
that to secure that pretty ordering of her sur- 
roundings in which she delighted, she must give 
a personal attention to which she was unaccus- 
tomed, and for which it was not easy to find 
time. 

Order and regularity in the kitchen and 
dining-room, and the economy at first desirable 
in itself and always in its results, which made 
part of her -"rstem, could only be made certain 



THE WILLOWS. 25e 

by the careful oversight of tlie mistress of the 
house. All that went to the perfecting of Jiome 
in its best and broadest sense, became her ambi- 
tion. Immediately after breakfast her own 
bands washed the china and silver, and arranged 
the china-closet and store-room. Then follow* 
ed the ordering of dinner, and the arranging of 
work for the day; after which she gave some 
time to her children until the nurse was at liber- 
ty to attend to them. 

And now came the hours devoted to what 
w^as exclusively her own work. She was accus- 
tomed to close the door of her room and spend 
a, half hour in prayer and reading. She often 
said that she gained so much by this preparation 
that she made time by it. She says : 

" If I have guests I excuse myself for tlie two or three 
or more hours necessary to do what belongs to the day, 
as imperatively as if I were teaching, and had pupils 
waitiug for me. When I have guests whom it is desir- 
able to treat with more formality, I try to arrange to 
have little or no writing to do during their brief stay ; but 
generally my friends appreciate my engagements, and are 
good-natured enough to occupy themselves during the 
interval." 

Her habit and position in writing have been 



256 COUSIN ALICK 

spoken of; but one more peculiarity may be 
noticed. Her inkstand stood upon a little tray, 
on a cbair beside her, if she were seated as usual 
on a low seat ; she every morning put a fresli 
pen of a particular make into the beavy gold 
jjandle, worn smootb with its years of service. 
Her broad mark and full flow of ink did not 
reveal the fact that she kept only ink enough 
to moisten the nib of the pen, thus making 
necessary constant journeys to the inkstand. 
She explained this by saying she did her think- 
ing during the time spent in refilling her pen. 
" Then with my thought clothed in words, I 
have no time to lose ; so you see the rapid, busi- 
ness like erasure I make with a single line of my 
pen, impatient of the ill-arranged thought or 
inapt phrase." 

Her writing hours rarely ended without great 
weariness and exhaustion, an aching head, and 
cheeks flushed to pui-ple. She would sometimes 
take rest before, but oftener after the nursery 
dinner, when she made her own lunch. In the 
afternoon she drove, paid visits, if well enough, 
or paid attention to the seamstress, for whom 
she often cut out work. If she took this time 



THE WILLOWS. 267 

for lying down, it would frequently be witli a 
book in one hand and lier watch in the other, 
lest she should forget the time, and not be ready 
to receive Mr. H. on his return from the city. 
For this she always made a careful toilet, and 
then the children, fresh from theirs, were brought 
to kiss mamma, and to show her that they were 
dressed wdth the neatness which would please 
papa. In all the years spent in the country, she 
never failed, unless prevented by illness, in this 
loving preparation for her husband's return. 
If the weather was fine, she met him on the 
piazza, if not, in the hall, with an unclouded 
brow, and a cheerful, loving greeting. 

It is so often made a reproach to literary 
women that their houses are ill ordered, their 
children neglected, and their husband's comfort 
unconsidered, that too much stress cannot be 
laid on this trait in Mrs. Haven's character. A 
lady well known in the world of letters, who 
had been her intimate friend in Philadelphia, 
and who visited her in her country home, wrote 
to her sister : 

*' Alice, as you well know, was a remarkable woman. 
T never knew any one with so mncli literary talent who 



258 COUSIN ALICE. 

was so methodical and practical as a business manager 
and as a housewife. She would have put to flight as a 
false notion, the stigma cast upon literary women, that 
they are all poor housekeepers, and not very exemplary 
wives and mothers: in all these relations she was a 
beautiful model." 

ISTever was a mistress more truly the friend 
and counsellor of her servants, studying their 
welfare with unfailing interest, and considering 
their happiness as well. The cook who began 
with her in her first housekeeping experiment 
at the cottage, held the same office in the house- 
hold as long as her beloved mistress lived. She 
required the servants whose duties brought them 
near her or the children, to be well dressed and 
perfectly neat, and gave them means and oppor- 
tunity to be so. She took great satisfaction in 
the services of one who was above her station in 
breeding and in education, whose pretty ways 
and delicate appearance were always a pleasure 
to her. 

The same seamstress worked in the family 
year after year. She was always paid from Mrs. 
Haven's own purse, -^ith the feeling that the 
wife of a man not over rich should either do her 
own sewing or provide for its remuneration. 



THE WILLOWS. 259 

Slie liad a very decided feeling about tlie 
division of labor in a faniily, liaving little sym- 
patliy witli the mistress who takes upon herself 
unnecessarily, duties that another can discharge 
as well or better, that she may thereby save 
money to he hoarded^ or to he sjpent in the pur- 
chase of hcxuries. For this reason there was 
always, after they were able to command it, a 
libera? amount of service, of the best kind, in the 
family, and tliis was amply remunerated. 

The parsimony which denies this in a house- 
hold able to furnish it, made no part of the econ- 
omy which was, as we have seen, a virtue of 
the first magnitude in the eyes of Mrs. Haven. 
Care in the minutest particular consistent always 
with her general breadth of interests, a personal 
supervision of the most faithful kind, but never 
interfering with the discharge of other duties yet 
more sacred, and the closest economy that would 
admit of the largest amount of happiness and 
comfort, entered into the perfect system of her 
home. 



CHAPTEE II 



JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 




''June 1st, 1SS8. 
HO U msitest Mm suddenly in the morn- 
ing and provest him.'' 

"In reading 'Cecil' shortly after I 

made my last entry, I came upon this : 

" ' The Christian prays for fuller manifestations of 

Christ's power and glory, and love to Him, hut he is often 

not aware that this is in truth praying to be brought into 

the furnace.' 

" I have frequently felt this when I pray to be hum- 
ble. I dread the answer to the prayer ! I have felt that 
it was not best that all should be prosperous, without a 
blemish on our earthly happiness ; and I have prayed that 
we might not be left to grow worldly, unspiritual, absorb- 
ed in the business and the pleasures of life." 

Her liealtli was again more than ordinarily 
Micate, a time of trial, and always great eufier- 



JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 261 

ing to her was in the future, and she records with 
much abasement of spirit, the depression, and 
sometimes impatience, with which it affects her. 
Against this she constantly struggles, and prays 
God to help her. She writes in her journal : 

" I am especially ungrateful, because a year since I 
prayed that if it were God's will, I might have a year of 
health and leisure to work ; ^just one year ' I asked, and 
now because it has been granted me, I presume on more ! 
This, then, is the cloud, the chastening I dreaded and yet 
asked for, and it is sent in the most gentle and loving 
way, so fall of compassion as almost to take away the 
trial. As to the responsibility and uncertainty of the 
future, ' duties are ours, events are God's ' let me remind 
myself. I have the same trust and promise for four that 
I have for three children. 

" I know I always learn more in the seclusion I can 
now command, and I ask for knowledge daily. I have 
dreaded in my new home the threatened loss of the retire- 
ment I covet and enjoy ; here it is, all arranged for me ; 
my lessons are to go on, my time is provided, yet I hold 
back. Yesterday I was fretful and rebellious, to-day the 
sky is Hghtened, if not clear, and I write down this new 
lesson in self-knowledge, lest I should forget it and 
presume. 

"I used to think I had real faith; I have thought I 
excelled in thankfulness ! 
12 



262 COUSIN ALICE. 

" There is another thing: ' Little children Iceep your- 
selves from idols.'' My chief idol is bodil/ ease and com- 
fort. Should I cry out because it is to be destroyed I I 
must learn to suffer and endure hardness ; but I am so 
tired, I have had so many hard lessons ! I am so tired of 
this perpetual struggle with fortune or with self. I dread 
lest the former should begin again, and for others. I am 
weary of striving toward well-doing; all that I have 
ever done seems so useless, and faulty, and worthless. I 
want to lay my head down upon a stone anywhere^ and 
'rest and forget, at least for a while. 

"I deserve ' to de cast out again, stripped and 'beaten,'' 
and left to myself to take my own choice again, but I can 
only desire and pray, ' Cast me not away from Thy pres- 
ence^ and taTce not Thy Holy Spirit from me.'' " 

Poor human heart! Poor, feeble, weary 
body! How pathetically the plaint is poured 
forth when the burden of life grew so heavy, and 
the hands so ever busy hung down, devoid of 
strength ! The weariness which she had resisted 
so long, which never took the form of complaint 
to earthly friends, even when their tender sympa- 
thy might have drawn it forth, must find vent 
somewhere. Who that saw what she accom- 
plished, and how apparently unfalteringly she 
walked along the roughest path, could know 



JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 263 

" what was resisted " ? She sometimes says : " I 
have not much patience," or " I have little nat- 
ural courage," but when in the life that was 
visible to others did either seem to fail her? 
To those who were anxious for her health under 
the pressure of such exacting duties and engage- 
ments, she would always write in the most 
cheerful manner, finding out every possible alle- 
viation, and sometimes making the whole as-; 
pect of her life so bright and cheery, with such 
a golden glimpse down the vista of a possible 
future, pictured by her sweet hopefulness and 
trust, that fears for her would involuntarily sub- 
side, and the gloom that came with the vision 
of the feeble and worn worker in the vineyard, 
would be dispelled by the sunshine which was 
making ready the vintage. 

Her power of consolation was very great, 
and it drew mourners to her as irresistibly as the 
fresh springs draw the thirsty. The consolations 
of Scripture promises were always ready; the 
possibilities ^l^ich the merciful providences of 
God place in our lives were never wanting, or 
absent from her mind ; and all that others had 
found helpful would come to her memory as she 



264 COUSIN ALICE. 

comforted and strengtliened tlie mourning and 
the feeble. 

To one dear friend she writes : 

" I am sure from your letter that the worst of the con- 
flict is over, and the hands of ministering angels are 
already bringing you ' the leaves of healing from the tree 
of hfe ' for the deadly wounds you have received. 

"Christian was faint and spent, you know, after that 
terrible fight ; and where would be the victory without 
«uch battles ? ' To Mm that overcometh ' the promise has 
been given ; I often think of it of late, and of this — when 
I have passed through my hottest fights — ' The nearer to 
heaven, the higher the mountains ; the deeper the vallies, 
the sharper the conflicts.^ I am sure it is and will be so. 
When we settle it with ourselves, and look for it, we are 
in a measure prepared for them." 

And then follows a page of instruction and 
comfort from her beloved Bogatsky. 

To another friend, whose long-continued ill- 
ness had led to a peculiar and very distressing 
spiritual depression, she wrote : 

"It seemed very hard to me that so faithful a soldier 
and servant of God should be left to feel, even for a time, 

forsaken of Him ; but, dear , you can perhaps real 

ize more nearly than any of us the external agony of our 
Saviour's sufi'ering when the light was hid from Him. 
tf it is thought a privilege to know something of His 



JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 265 

lesser bodily pain, how mucli nearer your approach, and 
* if we suffer^ ice shall also reign with Him.'' I am work- 
ing away at a book of daily readings, called 'The Good 
Report,' its motto, ' A Good Report through Faith,' and 
the text for to-day, just written down, is, ' For Ee hath 
said, Twill never leave thee norforsalce thee.'' 

"I do pray, my dear friend, that you may be able 
'■above all to talce the shield of faith, wherewith you shall 
le alle to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked,^ for 
unbelieving thoughts are fiery darts indeed, and we know 
from whom they are sent. Do you remember Christiaa 
in the Yalley, unable to distinguish his own thoughts 
from the wicked whispers of the Evil One, and so blam- 
ing himself bitterly for that sin of which he had not been 
guilty ? I often think of it when the fiery darts are 
launched against me. 

"When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate 
condition for some time, he thought he heard the voice of 
a man, as going before him saying, ''Though I walk 
through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear 
no evil, for Thou art with me.'' 

" Then he was glad for these reasons : First, because 
he gathered from thence that some who feared God were 
in this valley as well as himself. Secondly, he perceived 
that God was with them, though in that dark and dismal 
state. And by and by, the day broke. Then said Chris- 
tian, '■He hath turned the shadoic of death into the morn- 
ing.'' 
. "May this be your experience, my dear 0. Surely 



266 COUSIN ALICE. 

I, if any one, am bound to pray for it, when I owe to you 
the confirmation of my own faith, and the direction of 
my spiritual life ; and I know that I am but one of many 
who owe their coming to the ' wicket gate ' to you. 

" I have read to-day, in an Enghsh paper, that Bunyan 
is really to have a monument, and in Englanfi^ where he 
was a despised vagrant. I should like to give my mite 
towards it, for his book has been next to the Bible to 
me.'" 

From her JQumal : 

" Said S., as he gave me my month's allowance for the 
housekeeping expenses, 'Make good use of it. I have 
lost money to-day.' 

" ' I hope you will until you learn to thank God as the 
giver of every thing you have ; to depend only on His 
blessing for success, and to give Him a part of His own 
again. He has given you a great deal this year. "What 
have you gfven Him ? ' 

" ' Oh, no preaching ! I don't care about hearing any 
thing more,' but very kindly, though I know he does not 
believe my doctrine. It is a great trouble to me that we 
cannot agree to lay aside a fixed part of our income ' as 
the Lord Ms prospered us,^ and yet I dare say and know 
that my greatest failures are not in almsgiving, but 
in gentleness, meekness, and charity ; more than likely 
worse failings in His sight than the lack of some others 
in giving to the poor and ignorant." 



JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 267 

" Aug. 1st. 

" To-day has been brilliantly lovely ; nothing wanting 

in sky or heart. It seemed like a birthday festival. 

When I knelt at the communion service, with S. one side 

and T. the other, I said, 'Here I am, and my sheaves 

with me.' 

"When I asked myself, as I did continually through 
the morning, ' What is expected of me; for so much given? ' 
it seemed to be, ' that ye lear much fruit; that I should 
strive to grow more Christ-like myself, and pray and 
work more steadily and abundantly for others whom I 
do not especially love, where the motive is more unselfish, 
'to break a narrow will, and narrow prayers.' Lord, 
break them both, and give us all a new, deep, vigoroua 
spiritual life. 

"Yet the morning had its blemish in self-indulgence, 
in late rising and its consequences. The afternoon was 
marked by remissness in duty to the children, giving up 
teaching and instructing them because of their restlessness. 

"Two lessons for remembrance. 

» I am very thankful for the day, and for its happiness, 
' a feast of good tilings^ prepared and given to me without 
my planning or anticipation. This morning I could take 
to heart Jacob's prayer in my chapter for the day : 

"*/ am not worthy of the least of all Thy mercies^ 
and of all Thy truth ichich Thou hast shown unto Thy 
servant, for with my staff I passed over this Jordan, and 
now I am lecome two lands.'' 

"I found myself saying a few nights since, 'Oh, 1 



268 COUSm ALICE. 

read nothing now-a-days but books of devotion and a 
few novels ! ' I smiled, and so did S., at the connection ; 
but it was true. "When I read in my own room, I read 
to ' grow in grace and in the Tcnowledge of our Lord."* 
When I take up a book down stairs, it is for recreation. 
I have not had a thought of study or advancement for 
a long time, apart from my own pursuits. But I have 
asked myself, does not this demand of me other reading, 
am I not wasting a talent I should employ, and which I 
might fashion to the Master's service ? Am I too old for 
study ? I have never been a student in any thing but the 
Bible and its belongings ; is it too late to begin now ? " 

Making reference to her social life in PMla- 
delpliia, lier frivolity and gaiety, and her enjoy- 
ment in her successes, the remembrance of which 
frequently humiliated her, as it contrasted with 
the nobler aims and higher pui'poses of her pres- 
ent life, she says : 

" I hope the fact that some know of it, here where, 
God helping me, I have taken such a different stand- 
point in conversation and action, will make me more 
humble and lowly before them. When I am tempted to 
think what advances I have made, may I never forget 
this! 

" Last evening I began to read Bayne's * Chnstian 
Life,' the introductory chapter, and then went on to his 
Bketch of John Foster. This I noted as especially my 



JOURNAL AND LETTERS. 269 

own case : ' At intervals I feel devotion and benevolence, 
and a surprising ardor, but when these are turned tow- 
ards substantial, laborious operations, they fly, and 
leave me spiritless amid the iron labor. Still I do con- 
fide in the efficacy of persistent prayer, and I do hope 
that the spirit of the Lord will yet come mightily upon 
me, and carry me through toils, and suffering, and death, 
to stand in Mount Zion amongst the followers of the 
Lamb.' 

" And again his biographer says : 

" ' But he has made progress. A general belief in 
Christianity has become an earnest personal straining of 
the eye toward Jesus. Though all the earth fail him, 
and though his own heart harbors traitors, yet is there 
an ever-living Spu'it of the Lord, and this can be reached 
by a mortal through persistent prayer. 

" ''Not as though I had already attained, either were 
already perfect. I count not myself to have aj^j^rehended^ 
tut this one thing I do^ forgetting those things which are 
"behind and reaching forth unto those things which are' 
before^ I press toioards the marlc for the prize of the high 
calling of God in Christ Jesus.'' " 

" Sept. ISt/t. 

" In my reading and at prayers to-day I looked for a, 
text for the year, for this is my birthday, and this seemed 
to be the apswer : 

" ' And He said unto me, My grace is sufficient for 
thee : for my strength is made perfect in weaTcness.'' 

" It was not what I wanted to hear, for there is a fore- 
12* 



270 COUSIN ALICE. 

shadowing of trial, and suffering, and endurance, rather 
than prosperity and joy fulness. Still I accept it. I be- 
lieve in being directed to special helps in this way. 

"Here is the text for th,e year: ''Be careful for 
nothing!^ If I had read Bogatsky this morning I should 
have stood by this, but I was hurried in the morning, and 
too weary at night. The next day I found what I had 
missed, this text, and what follows : 

" ' Always trusting that He will as certainly carry me 
through the difficulties to come, as He has done through 
the difficulties I have already met, so that I may even 
give Him thanks for it beforehand.' 

"Many might think this a foolish superstition, but 
surely I may take the message thus doubly sent, and lay 
down all my care." 



CHAPTEE III, 



RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859. 




EFEEEI^CE has been made to a 
superior young person wlio was in 
service in Mrs. Haven's family. 
She was one of two sisters, both 
of whom had been educated in a nunnery^ in 
Ireland. Unhappy circumstances in their home, 
occurring after they left school, determined them 
to come to this country and support themselves. 
After various vicissitudes, one found a home at 
" The Willows," till she was followed to this 
country by an old suitor, who persuaded her to 
become a mistress in a home of her own, which 
he provided for her in Virginia; the other, 
Delia, went into a large embroidery establish- 
ment in ~Egw York. 



272 ^ COUSIN ALICE. 

« 
Having occasion, when going to the city one 

day, to take a message from her maid to her 

sister, Mrs. Haven was much shocked to find 

that a great change indicating failing health 

had taken place in poor Delia since she had 

seen her. This was in the summer of 1858. 

Reared in comfort, well educated, 'daintily 
cared for as the girls had been, neither was 
fitted for hard service or close confinement. It 
was plain that consumption had marked Delia 
for a victim, and Mrs. Haven determined in- 
stantly that all that care and comfort could do 
should be at once given to the sufferer, with 
some hope of prolonging her life in a country 
home, and with the best medical advice ; so she 
insisted on her coming at once to " The Wil- 
lows," to pass the remainder of the summer 
with Annie. It was too late ; the disease was 
firmly seated, and progressed rapidly toward a 
fatal termination. 

The touching story of the sisters' devotion to 
each other, and of the closing hours of Delia's 
life, is told in the journal. For many weeks the 
two were together in this lovely home, where 
all ministered to the invalid ; and both sisters, in 



RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859. 273 

their love, and their ignorance of the disease, 
were happy and hopeful. At last from Mrs. 
Haven's lips they learned the fatal truth, that 
hope must end, that death would soon terminate 
the sufferings they could not now remove, or 
even alleviate, and that only in God was there 
comfort to be found. To her, their best friend, it 
fell to comfort Annie in her great grief, while 
she pointed Delia to her Saviour. Both sisters 
clung to her as their only earthly Mend. 

" Delia, we will do all we can to relieve you ; 
but, my poor girl, there is no helx3 but in God. 
Try to think of your Saviour, ask Him for 
patience and strength; God will not let you 
suffer more than you can bear." And so the 
last hours passed away, and the death sentence 
took effect. 

" Sept. 2Wi. 

"This is a marked day with me. The shadow of 
death was prophetic. I have taken my first great lesson 
as to the absolute certainty of the sentence passed on all 
living, on my own unavoidable end." 

Singularly prophetic indeed, was this entry ! 

On this day a letter came from a Mend 

and relation, who had fixed on the next, 



2Y4 COUSIN ALICE. 

tlie 30th, for a long-promised visit. Mrs. H. 
says: 

" She was a person who would he particularly nervous, 
I thought, at the Idea of death in the house. Yet it 
would he cruel to hurry the poor girls out of it. There 
was hut one thing that I could do, and S. consented that 
I should go to town at half-past five in the morning, and 
make the necessary arrangements for them. It was gray 
daylight when I started, and scarcely more when I stood 
in the undertaker's shop surrounded hy ghastly coflBns, 
for any age and condition. 

" The undertaker was very Mnd when I explained the 
case, and so was every one to whom I had occasion to go." 

At ten in tlie forenoon slie reached home, 
having travelled fifty miles, and spent two or 
three hours in the city occupied with arrange- 
ments for Delia's funeral, which took place at 
four o'clock in the afternoon, an horn- before her 
friend was expected. The lady who was coming 
was one for whom Mrs. H. had a very great 
respect and affection ; she was a perfect house- 
keeper, and this was her first visit to "The 
"Willows." There could not but be a little feel- 
ing of pride, but there was far more regard to 
the proper respect due to her guest, and to her 
comfort, in the exertion made by the young 



RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859. 276 

mistress of " The Willows " during this hour for 
the reception of her friend, when, from the na- 
ture of the circumstances, the chief labor came 
upon her of arranging the house and restoring 
the habitual air of grace and comfort. 

" At the end of the hour," she says, " I met 
the travellers on the piazza, with every thing 
outwardly quiet and calm ; but what a day had 
this been since its early dawn ! " 

How illustrative is this incident of her active 
benevolence, her untiring energy and unfailing 
efficiency, and the regard paid to every virtue 
and grace which adorns life, by Mrs. Haven, a 
delicate, even feeble woman, whose life was 
already crowded with duties and cares. Prom- 
inence is given to this, one only of many stories 
of a similar import, because a curiously prophet- 
ic spirit, identifying the case with her own life 
imconsciously, made her keep, in this one in- 
stance, a full account in her journal of all the 
■circumstances. 

During the winter that followed her fourth 
child was born. Her health made it necessary 
that she shonld give up its immediate care, which 
was the source of great concern to her who 



276 COUSIN ALICJS. 

placed so high, an estimate on the privileges of 
maternity. Some interesting circumstances at- 
tended the christening of the child, to whom was 
given the name of one of her best and most 
faithful friends ; but his infancy was marked by 
a much more than ordinary anxiety, as he had a 
singular tendency, shared partially by her oldest 
child, to hemorrhages — the slightest cut or rup- 
ture of the skin producing a fearful bleeding, 
which would last for days, and the child's life 
would seem to hang upon a thread. Mrs. Haven 
inherited from her father a nervous horror of the 
sight of blood. Yet it seemed to be peculiarly 
her lot to have to exert herself against this weak- 
ness, and '' to charge her soul to hold her body 
strengthened" in circumstances when many 
women and even men with this tendency lose all 
control, and demand instead of paying service. 
ITo one not similarly affected could understand 
what she withstood in the case of this child, and 
in many more instances w^hich were fated to 
increase in the latter part of her life. " Duty " 
seemed to give her iron nerves, and bridge over 
with these the " impossible " to others. ]S"o call 
of duty, not the faintest impression of it, was 



RECOttB OF 1858 AND 1859. 27'; 

overlooked by her. Its shadowings were enough 
to arrest her attention and fix her purpose. And 
tliis was she who in her girlhood declared her re- 
volt from the imperious rule of obligation ! In 
her journal appears this entry, on April 8th, 1859 ; 

*' Sometimes the mind is impressed very strongly with 
a certain duty, as praying or working for tlie conversion 
of a person perhaps older, or in other respects wiser than 
ourselves, who has resisted years and opportunities here- 
tofore. 

" ' Does God send us f ' is the doubt thrown in as check. 
God is patient with the doubt, and brings before us such 
providential occasions or circumstances as ought to con- 
vince us that it is our work. In the first place we are to 
purify ourselves, and attack Baal boldly in his high 
places : we may ask others for help ; as Gideon sent for 
the other tribes, so are we to seek the prayers and in- 
fluences of those likely to be interested with the promise 
'that where two or three. are agreed as touching one 
thing,' to fortify other promises of success. 

" Prayers are sometimes answered, and apparently 
denied because 'there are too many with us.' ^Lest 
Israel vaunt tTiemselves against me^ saying mine own 
hand liatTi saved w<?,' and we are tried again and again, 
till our intention is pui'ified, and all possibilities of self- 
conceit destroyed." 

" Wi. 

" One of two things hinders our advance when we are 



278 COUSIN ALIOK 

really in earnest and mean to give battle ; a sense of our 
own inefficiency, resulting from real humility, or a dis- 
couragement thrown in by the enemy. 

" God is patient with true humihty : He encourages 
it. ' If thou fear to go down, though I hme given them 
all into thy hands, if my word is not sufficient to give 
thee courage,'' we shall have even a new testimony, 
' some news from the camp,' some occasion in conver- 
sation, or something that God makes use of to prove 
that we are indeed directed to work, and shall accom- 
plish it. As to our insufficiency, see in Gideon's conquest, 
that He can make use of what He pleases, even the 
most trivial means apparently ; ' the cake of bread 
overthrows the tent,' lamps and pitchers are swords 
and bows. It is Eimself that does the work, puts confi- 
dence into the army, and we are to follow this up to 
victory. There are princes among the enemy. Oreb 
and Zeeb are taken from this humble beginning, or 
by this leader 'the least of his father's house.' It is 
not even strength, or skiU, pr courage that is to win, 
only deep convictions of duty, singleness of intention, 
and a simple trust in God's help." 

Thus does she follow the leadings of duty, 
and fortify herself for her work. 

In May, 1859, she had a visit fi'om her uncle, 
Dr. Brown, whom she had called father since 
her adoption by him in her childhood. A.s she 



RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859. 279 

advanced in Christian life, a singular spiritual 
affinity and resemblance grew up between these 
two, each having such peculiarities of faith and 
practice, differing of course from differences of 
temperament and circumstance, as showed that 
their kinship was spiritual. A special sympathy 
and mutual appreciation had sprung up between 
them, as she came nearer him in religious 
growth ; and his rare visits were times of extra- 
ordinary interest to her. 

There is a record many pages long of their 
conversation on what is commonly called the 
second coming of Christ. How he interpreted 
the millenial period has already been mentioned, 
and how with her face turned toward this time 
of peace and joy for all the earth, and brighten- 
ed by the radiance of the dawning she thought 
she discerned, she hoped and prayed for its 
speedy approach. She says: 

"I am almost frightened when I notice how strong a 
hold this has taken in my mind. I seem to think of little 
else. I observe that as soon as I have read, thought, or 
watched much, these impressions of the nearness of the 
reign of Christ come. In the winter of 1856 this was 
especially so. But that was followed by such spiritual 
pride, and then such painful humiliation, that it makes 



280 COUSLV ALICE. 

me dread it now. And yet, as I have said before, ' The 
secret of the Lord is with them that fear ffim,^ and who 
hves so near of all I know as father ? There were Simeon 
and Anna who recognized his first advent at once while 
all the rest were looldng for it in the future. He was 
thirty years in the world before His ministry was felt. 
I must believe that He is now at the threshold. 

" And what good is this knowledge or this hope ? It 
stimulates and cheers, or ought to ; renews our energies 
more and more to gather our clusters of the grapes of 
the world's harvest, our ' sheaf of the wheat.' ' And when 
these things degin to come to pass, then looTc up and lift 
np your hands, for your redemption draweth near. Know 
ye that the Kingdom of God is at hand.'' " 

In a memorandum of a letter to one of those 
persons with whom she was corresponding, on 
the reality of a work of grace in the heart, she 
makes her point, in its influence in the transforma- 
tion of the individual character, and in our ex- 
perience in the change in ourselves. She says : 

" A simple faith is absolutely necessary, for Jesus has 
certainly said that unless we have the trust of a little 
child, who raises no cavils, and asks not ' why ' or ' how,' 
but believes because his father spoke, we cannot enter 
into the Kingdom of Heaven. How can a child's feeble 
powers comprehend the motives of our restrictive govern- 
ment? Do we stop to explain to him ? Can our limited 



RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859. 281 

intelligence fathom the Infinite wisdom ? How are we to 
approach God ? Only through obedience and belief. It 
is the work of Eternity to grow nearer to Him in appre- 
hension." 

In July of tills year Mrs. Ilaven went np to 
Hudson to visit her own mother. While there 
she accompanied her mother to call on a very 
asced and infirm woman, a distant relative of her 
grandmother, who was now eighty-four years 
old. The visit made a striking impression upon 
Mrs. H. The old lady's life had been one of 
singular misfortune, toil, and isolation from her 
relatives ; besides she had suifered for fifty years 
from a tumor on her arm. 

" When she first came to our house, many years ago, 
I was almost a child. She was then a very old woman, 
wrinkled and feeble. My mother says she wanted to 
kiss me, and hesitated, fearmg I would object ; and then 
when I found it out I said, ' Why, kiss me. Auntie B. ; ' 
and that she had always loved me very much ever since 
that visit. 

" I talked with her about her removal to ' The Old 
Ladies Home in Brooklyn,' as her home in Hudson was 
not a pleasant one. She told me the story of her long, 
hard life, of her trust in God, and her peace in that trust." 

This long story was written out by Mrs. 



282 COUSIN ALICE. 

Haven, and printed in a religions newspaper. 
The jonrnal proceeds : 

" After we were interrupted I went home witli my 
heart full. I could hardly help crying in the street; but 
I had an engagement to meet K.'s music teacher, so I 
could not relieve my full heart even when I reached 
home. As I took my bonnet off I said to myself: '"Why 
have I youth, and health, and personal attractiveness and 
independence, when this good, humble. Christian woman, 
is so stripped and so desolate ? Her little, loving child 
who seemed to sit beside her as she talked, and to look 
up into her face with wistful tenderness, even he was 
taken away from her ; she does not know when, she has 
not heard from him for forty years, to know whether he 
is living or dead.' I felt choked with sobs during all the 
business conversation that followed. 

" Once, a few days before I left home, when very 
weary and discouraged, I sat on the piazza, and leaned 
my head back in my chair. ' "When I am dead,' I said to 
myself, ' I cannot suffer any more, either pain or care, 
and it is not worth while to live.' , 

"I did not say that I wished I was dead, but I 
thought death seemed very inviting. 

" 'There is one sin that God has mercifully kept me 
from,' said Aunt B. this morning, 'I have never been 
allowed to ask to die. I have always been willing to 
live if it was His will. I have never prayed to die, and ] 
am thankful that I have been mercifully kept fi'om it.' 



liECORB OF 1858 AND 1859. 283 

" The self-reproachful remembrance of my thoughts 
that night, went through me like an arrow. I had a beau- 
tiful home, the kindest of husbands, loving little children 
and friends. She, worn out with years of labor and pain, 
with constant physical suffering, a burden to he!" nearest 
friends, and now to be sent away from them, to die amongst 
strangers; certain that death, when it did come, would be 
an entrance npon an affluence of life, and strength, and 
fulness of blessing, yet ^willing to icait.'' Oh, my God ! 
what a reproach to my selfish, my ungrateful heart! 
What a lesson for the future ! 

" I prayed that I might never forget it. I prated, 
standing up in my room, choking with those unshed tears, 
that God would so impress it upon my mind that I might 
never forget it, whatever I was called upon to pass 
through. I pray so now. 

" ' I remember,' said the old lady, ' once when your 
grandfather ha'd been trying to reason with me, when I 
was in a great deal of trouble, how impossible it seemed 
to me to comprehend and to believe what he said. I sup- 
pose he Avent home and prayed for me afterwards, for 
that night I seemed to reach the light and Jesus, who 
had stood so far away from me with such thick dark- 
ness between ns.' " 

And now this fifty years afterwards this 
blessing is returned npon his children's children ! 
Surely the generations of the righteous are bless- 
ed, and this blessing is a wonderful inheritance : 



284 COUSIN ALICE. 

and liow cheering to tliink that the efforts Tve 
make now for the comfort and conversion of 
others may come home to onr own children yet 
nnborn! So does every ripple of the pool of 
healing spread and spread until it dies npon the 
shore of Time. 




CHAPTER lY. 

WIN^TERS IN- FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 

" Oct. 1th, 1859. 

• T is a bright, sunny, crisp October day, a cloud- 
less sky, a low wind wandering through 
the still green foHage, soft shadov/s sway- 
ing over my window and on the green 
grass beneath. No frost yet, cool as the season has been, 
and geraniums, dahlias, and heliotropes are still flowering 
in the borders. 

"A hard day for a death sentence. Yet death and 

loneliness hang over me. "When I hear S 's racking 

cough, shaking him from head to foot, a horrible dread 
comes over me, and my fears grow stronger and stronger." 

The illness of Mr. Haven continued to in- 
crease till lie was entirely prostrated by a severe 
hemorrhage, which made even his physicians 
give up hope of his recovery. A warm climate 
Was advised, and they went first to Charleston, 
13 



286 COUSIN ALICE. 

tlieiice to Florida, where they remained till 
spring. The short record of this jonmey in her 
journal is made after her return. She says : 

" I can hardly realize tlie deep waters of last mid- 
winter, the fiery trial we passed through together, the 
hardest of my life. Our only hope was a warm climate, 
and some of our friends tried to dissuade us from that. 
We gave up Santa Cniz because the yellow fever was 
there, and took the advice of Major Leslie, about Palatka, 
in Florida. On the 4th of February we left home in the 
steamer Columbia, for Charleston." 

The separation from her little children, es- 
pecially her baby, not quite a year old, was very 
trying ; but they were left in careful hands, and 
with kind and faithful servants, she feeling it 
her duty to accompany her husband, whose life 
seemed almost to depend upon her faithful care. 
Her own health needed the change almost as 
much, but of this she did not seem conscious, 
though others saw it plainly enough. She says 
of their stay in Charleston : 

"We had a delightful time, but my winter's work 
began to teU upon me. I took a heavy cold and began 
to cough, and was quite ill. I talked with poor Carrie 0. 
about dying, little thinking that she was to go first." • 



WINTERS m FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 287 

Thej were obliged to decline many of the 
courtesies so abundantly and cordially extended 
to tbem by her old friends and admirers, who 
would gladly have made her visit a complete 
ovation, as indeed was the case in many places 
where they stopped, and met friends or presented 
letters. Everywhere her name as a writer, and 
her fame especially amongst children and young 
persons, had preceded her, and prepared a royal 
welcome for her. An extract from a letter 
written to her mother from Florida, will give 
some idea 'of this. It is dated at : 

"We brought letters to Mr. Fairbanks, the Mstorian 
of Florida, a man of wealth and liberal vicAvs, and Mr. 
Miller, the rector of the church ; but before they were 
delivered two beautiful baskets of flowers were sent to me 
with a card ' For Cousin Alice ; ' and when Mr. Fairbanks 
took me into the schoolroom, the children crowded up, 
and it was really touching to see how interested they 
were to see me. Mr. F. drove us out to his home, and 
the flowers poured in, so that by evening my vases and 
bouquets covered the piano in the di-awing-room at tha 
hotel. 

" The negro waiter said, ' Some more of your httle 
cousins here to see you, Misse Haben ; lots of relations 
here, haven't you.' And the other guests at the hotel 
began to wonder at my fame." 



288 COUSIN ALICE. 

At Jacksonville, Fa., she renewed Ler cold. 
On the 19th, she says, "We had our most trying 
day, when it seemed as if we both should be 
taken away from the children." They reached 
Palatha on the 23d, and here began to improve. 
They afterwards went to Orange Springs, twenty- 
five miles in the interior. 

Feeling much benefited by the journey, they 
left Florida in April, intending to return slowly 
overland. Ill news reached them at Washington. 
It was feared that Louy, the baby, who showed 
symptoms of lameness, was going to have a 
" white swelling." Her expression of trust in 
God's providence, of reliance on the "firm 
foundation " of His promises in her distress at 
this intelligence, is very touching. She writes : 

" Eeaclied liome witli liearts too thankful for words. 
Found tlie children good, and much improved. The place 
looking so pleasant, and but for baby's lameness there 
would not be a drawback. He is still delicate, and in 
arms, but has begun to recover." 

That summer she commenced a juvenile, 
"Where There's a Will There's a Way," in 
which she makes use of her winter's experience, 
and her Florida material. Business perplexities 



WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 289 

brought a fearful strain upon her husband's 
health, which alarmed her very much ; but she 
writes : 

"Except that one despairing evening in July, I have 
nothing with which to reproach myself, so good was God 
in the extremity, saving me from the temptation to de- 
spond and repine, by the simple assurance that He was 
pledged to help and support us as His children. 

" No ray of light, but still helped to rely on that 
miraculous providence which God is sometimes pleased 
to exert in our greatest extemity." 

" Wi. 

" The peril is averted. I have been happy all day 
with the thought of God's goodness to us. 

" 'Fear not I am witli tliee, oh, be not dismayed, 
I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid ; 
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, 
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.' " 

« IWi. 
' ' Finished my book. I scarcely realized before in what 
a month of struggle and despondency it was written." 

Brave little heart! Living her philosophy 
and her religion alike, and so facing unblanched 
" the lions in the way." 

Her fears for 'her husband were so ever- 
present, and so absorbing, that she did not be- 



290 COUSIN ALICE. 

come conscious of her own peril. Her life 
proceeded as before; her domestic cares, her 
writing — for during the previous winter she 
had relinquished none of her engagements ; her 
anxieties and exertions for others remained un- 
abated. She went into the city quite frequently, 
and would often spend a whole day in attending 
to matters of business for herself or others, 
returning at night so utterly overcome with 
fatigue that it was impossible not to feel alarmed 
for her. But to remonstrances she would reply : 

" It is only fatigue ; I can always sleep it 
off ; I would not do it if there were not always 
so many things to be done which I can't help 
feeling that I can do better than any one else ; 
that these tiresome journeys are necessary." 

In tiie autumn, she and her sister made 
arrangements for their young sister K. to spend 
a year or two at a boarding-school in Charleston, 
S. C. K.'s health, and the peculiar advantages 
of the school, made the place sure to be an ad- 
mirable one, and " secession " had not yet taken 
shape, awaiting the result of the presidential 
election. When the day came for K. to sail, a 
furious storm was raging, so furious that the 



WINTERS m FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 291 

ladies of the family in town were questioning 
whether it wonld be best to attempt to accom- 
pany K. to the ship, which could not possibly 
sail while the storm lasted, though it might at 
any moment of its abatement. In the midst of 
the gale Mrs. Haven made her appearance, hav- 
ing come into town and crossed over to Brooklyn 
in the height of its fury. " It was impossible to 
let Katie go without giving her Ion voyage,^^ 

■ Of course she accompanied her to the ship, 
and saw her made comfortable there, and then 
she returned to her country home ; but the ex- 
posure at every change from house to carriage 
was so great, that she was literally drenched. 
The gale was so terrible that the house itself 
seemed to rock, the rain burst into it at various 
places ; her dressing closet did not escape, and 
she even had difficulty in getting dry clothing 
from any source. One of the noble trees that 
gave name to the place fell prostrate on the lawn, 
almost striking the house in its descent; the 
crash in the gathering darkness of the storm, and 
the coming of night, frightened the servants and 
children, and added to the effect the exhaustion 
and drenching of the day had produced. But 



292 COUSIN ALICE. 

]\Ii'S. Haven's feeling and fears were not tlie 
consequences of sncli fatigues in herself. Slie 
writes : 

" The violence of this awful storm kept me -wakeful, 
wearied and overtaxed as I was; so I lay on my bed 
sleepless till nearly morning, praying that God would 
takfe care of my poor child on ship-hoard ; toward morn- 
ing, quite comforted by an inward assurance that all was 
well with her, I fell asleep." 

At another time during that fall, she made 
her appearance in town so early, that it was 
evident she had risen before dawn. She said 
to the person on whom she called : 

" I am going over to Philadelphia at two 
o'clock ; but meanwhile I have some little busi- 
ness matters to arrange, will you drive with 
me for an hour or two ? " 

"When in the carriage the lady was informed 
that she was to accompany Mrs. Haven to a 
publishing house, where the former had engaged 
to have a book published. 

" You never do business in a proper way," 
said Mrs. H., " and though I have every confi- 
dence in the gentlemanly publishers, I always 
make contracts myself, and I am too much inter- 



WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 293 

ested- in this book to allow any informality in 
the business transaction." 

" I never can go upon the supposition that 
my books are going to be profitable, and that 
it is worth while to have so much formality." 

" I have asked God's blessing upon your 
work literally, not only that it ' may jprosper in 
the thing whereunto it is sent^ and be a fountain 
of good, as it must be, but that it may be suc- 
cessful in a pecuniary point of view, which also 
we have a right to ask." 

" I detest business interviews and arrange- 
ments." 

"What a foolish thing for a sensible wo- 
man to say. I eiif^oy them^ especially when I 
can have things my own way ! I like to un- 
ravel a tangle or open a clear skein ; it is as 
fine as getting out a problem in Algebra, and 
much more in my line ! I like to use what little 
knowledge of business I have, and exercise my 
tact if necessary — and I have always very pleas- 
ant business interviews. I wrote to Mr. H. 
the other day that I would go down with you 
to-day, agreeing to be there at eleven o'clock, 
and I asked him to have a contract for this 
13* 



294 COUSIN ALICE. 

book drawn up and ready to sign. It is simply 
wise and just to do things in this way ; a great 
deal of trouble is ptevented, and when that is 
the case, it is not a question of likes and dis- 
likes." 

The contract was signed, and the lady was 
then requested to make another call with Mrs. 
Haven. She, Mrs. H., had some years before 
edited the writings of a deceased friend, and for 
that, and for writing a preface to the book, had 
received a sum of money which she had invested 
for the friend's child, to be used when it should 
be most needed, " for situated as the little Alice 
is, there is no knowing how soon the need may 
come." She had begun to fear that the invest- 
' ment was not a wise one, and her business now 
was to make some- inquiries about it, and to 
withdraw the money if this seemed best. Thus 
the morning was spent, as were many others of 
this singularly useful life. 

On ]^ew Year's night, 1861, Mrs. Haven 
writes : 

" Alone for the first time on my wedding-daj. I can- 
not let it pass without a record of the unlooked for ex- 
perience I am passing through. 



WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SAIs^TA CRUZ. 295 

"S. cougMng badly decides to try Santa Cruz for the 
winter. I had not the least idea' of going with him, for 
badly as he coughs, and nervously shattered as he is, he 
is far more comfortable than he was last year at this 
time. But on my return from Philadelphia, where I had 
gone for a week, he asked me to get ready to go away 
with him at Christmas. There were all kinds of arrange- 
ments to be made, in the midst of which, becoming un- 
easy about himself, he went off via Havana, by steamer, 
leaving me to follow in a sailing vessel. The friends 
upon whom he depended to accompany me are not going, 
so I expect to start alone on the 5th, in a brig bound for 
St. Thomas. Alone to-day too — I rest upon the promise, 
' In quietness and confidence shall be your strength ; ' but 
sometimes I shrink from the loneliness, the parting with 
the children, the dangers of the sea, so peculiarly dreaded 
by me, and above all lest I have been rash or self-willed 
in my idea^. of duty. 

" I have abundant blessings to be thankful for in the 
year past. When I remember how extremely ill S. was 
a year ago to-day, his wonderful restoration, my own 
comparative health, the improvement in Louy, the health 
of the others, and all other known, and many more 
unknown mercies, I heartily bless and thank God." 

" Alone " she went on, in the little sailing 
vessel, the " Addy Swift ; " and after a voyage in 
which she suffered much less than she expected, 
she reached St. Thomas, when she felt fully 



296 COUSIN ALICE. 

compensated for all her anxieties and alarms by 
finding lier husband, from whom she bad not 
beard since bis leaving for Havana, in tbe little 
boat wbicb pulled out to meet tbem, as tbej 
dropped anchor in the beautiful bay. 

They passed a little while at tbis island, and 
then went on to St. Croix, where they soon 
found themselves comfortably estabHshed in a 
fine house at the West End, or Frederickstadt. 
Theodore Parker had boarded at this same house 
' the year before, and in his recently-published 
memoir, are graphic descriptions of this beautiful 
island, and of the family where the Havens now 
found a resting-place. 

On presenting letters to the rector of the 
English church, tjie Kev. Mr. Dubois, Mrs. 
Haven's name was instantly recognized, and she 
was told that her little books were in the Sunday 
School library, and very much esteemed, so that 
even here in this remote place her good name 
had gone before her, and prepared a welcome for 
her. 

She enjoyed her sojourn at Frederickstadt 
very much, especially their rambles on the beach, 
and their horseback rides over the island. Her 



WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 297 

graphic letters to lier friends were deliglitful. 
She wrote much, and even exerted herself, when 
not fit to make such exertion, to write an article for 
Mr. Godey. An attack of ophthalmia, the result, 
she says, of the unmitigated sunshine, interrupted 
this writing; but she resumed it as soon as possi- 
ble, and esteemed herself fortunate in an oppor- 
tunity to send off the manuscript and a package 
of letters, by a vessel bound directly to the 
United States, which had touched at the island. 
This package, prepared with so much pains, 
never reached its destination, the vessel being 
wrecked at £.ea. 

Another disappointment which she felt very 
much, might as well be mentioned here. The 
history of the island interested her extremely. 
She took every opportunity to procure informa- 
tion about certain interesting epochs in its his- 
tory, especially all that related to the emancipa- 
tion of the negroes, and its effect socially, and 
on the commercial prosperity of the island. 

The preparation of this sketch for publica- 
tion was the last important piece of writing 
which she did, and was made when she was so 
feeble that the labor was probably the finishing 



298 • COUSm ALICE. 

stroke, being the immediate cause of her fear- 
ful illness in the following winter. The paper 
required illustrations, which had been prepared 
for it by an artist w^ho was at Santa Cruz with 
them. A disagreement between this gentle- 
man and the publishers caused the delay of 
its publication, and finally prevented it alto- 
gether. This added to the peculiar fatality 
which seemed to attend all her literary labor at 
the island. 

After some weeks, during which they had 
had no news from home, the travellers returned to 
this country. In the interval the most startling 
events had occurred, and they landed in New 
York just as the people were in the ferment 
following the fall of Sumter, and in the midst 
of the preparations for the w^ar which now de- 
vastates our land. 

Mrs. Haven says the contrast to the land 
and life they had left cannot be described. At 
first she could not comprehend or appreciate 
the excitement she encountered, but before a 
week had elapsed she writes : 

" I watched our fine Seventh Eegiment passing down 
Broadway, on its way to "Washington, with feelings so 



WINTERS m FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 299 

keenly alive to ' the situation,' that I fairly would have 
felt it a relief to join in the expressions of enthusiasm to 
which the immense crowd constantly gave voice in 
cheers and hurrahs. I find myself quite a patriotic 
American again, and am glad to be in my own land." 



CHAPTEE Y. 



THE SUMMER OF 1861. 




S tlie war cloud gathered blackness, 
tlie intense interest of Mrs. Haven 
in the condition of the country 
was manifested in every way. 
]^o one was more active than she in those move- 
ments in which a woman could engage ; and 
when her hands could do no more, her heart was 
always brimming with the fulness of emotion 
aroused by the suffering on the battle-field, and 
in the desolate households to which ill-tidings 
came from time to time. 

"When the battle of Bull Eun was being 
fought, she was moved as only those of fine and 
unnaturally quickened spiritual apprehensions 
are, while a great event is pulling the heart 



THE SUMMER GF 1861. SOI 

strings of a nation. The news wliicli reached 
them on Sunday was hopeful, but during Mon- 
day, before the knowledge of the fatal result 
could reach her, she says : 

"I was possessed by such a spirit of restlessness, that 
it was entirely impossible for me to remain quiet, or to 
occupy myself with any thing sufficiently absorbing to keep 
my thoughts away from the battle-field. I spent hours 
praying for the dying and the bereaved ; and whether in 
the house, or walking about the grounds, or sitting on 
the piazza with closed eyes, my heart went up continu- 
ally in petition to the God of battles and to the Father of 
Mercies." 

As the afternooon trains from the city began 
to arrive, she walked down the carriage road to 
the gate that she might get the intelligence she 
craved. A person who saw her standing there 
at the foot of the avenue was struck by her 
appearance, and described her as one who seem- 
ed consumed by a fever — a purple flame in her 
cheeks and a glittering fire in- her eyes, which 
were softened by tears as the story of the disas- 
ter was told. 

When she knew all that was to be related of 
that pitiful fight and sorry flight, she returned 



302 COUSIN ALICE. 

quickly to the house and shut herself up in her 
room, where she alternately prayed and wi'ote. 
The feeling that found utterance in such circum- 
stances was a poem called " Bull Eun," which 
appeared in many of the leading papei'S of the 
day, but may have escaped some eyes ; the heart 
that conceived it throbs in every line : 

BULL RUN, SUNDAY, JULY 21st. 

BT ALICE B. HAVEX. 

We — walking so slowlj adown the green lane, 

With sabbath-bells chiming, and birds singing psalms, 

He — eager with haste, pressing on o'er the slain, 

'Mid the trampling of steeds and the drum-beat to arms ; 
In that cool dewy morning. 

We — waiting with faces all reverent and still. 
The organ's voice vibrant with praise unto God. 

His face set like flint with the impress of will, 
To press back the foe, or to die on the sod — 
Mj fair, brave young brother ' 

We — kneeling to hear benedictions of love. 

Our hearts all at peace with the message from Heaven I 

He — stretched on the field, gasping, wounded to prove 
If tnercy were found where such courage had thriven, 
.In the midst of the slaughter. 

Oh, God ! — can I live with the horrible truth ! 

Stabbed through as he lay, with their glittering steel, 
Could they look in that face, like a woman's for youth, 

And crush out its beauty with musket and heel, 
Like hounds, or like demons ! 



THE SUMMER OF 1861. 303 

That brow I have blessed in my dead mother's place, 
Each morning and eve §ince she went unto rest ; 

Smoothing down the fair cheek, as my own baby's face, 
Those eyes with her look, where my kisses were prest, 
For I saw hers — so tender! 

Curses spring to my lips ! Oh, my God, send the hail 
Of swift, ready vengeance for deeds such as this ! 

Forego all Thy mercy, if judgment must fail ! 
Forgive my wild heart if it prayeth amiss — 
His blood cricth upward. 

"Amiss ! "—and the strife of my clamorous grief 
Is hushed into stillness, — what grief like to thine ! 

If my poor human heart with its passions so brief 
Is tortured with pangs can we guess the Divine, 
"With depths past all searching? 

I know eyes more tender looked upward to Thee, 
That visage so marred by the torturing crown — 

Those smooth, noble limbs racked with anguish I see ; 
The side where the blood and the water gushed down 
From stroke fierce and brutal. 

Help lips white with anguish take up his prayer; 

Help hearts that are bursting to stifle their cries , 
The shout of the populace, too, has been there, 

To drown pleas for justice, to clothe truth in lies — 
To enrage and to madden. 

They knew not we loved them ; they knew not we prayed 
For their weal as our own : "we are brethren," we plead— 

Unceasing those prayers to our Father were made : 
When they flung down the palm for palmetto we said, 
" Let us still hope to win them." 



304 COUSIN ALICE. 

" God so loved that He gave ! " We are giving to these 
The lives that were dearer to us than our own — 

Let us add prayer for blow, trusting God to appease 
Our hearts' craving pain, when He hears on His throne 
" Oh, Father, forgive them ! " 

There are few records of impoi"tance during 
this Slimmer. Her health was not very good, 
and, provided with a pretty set of garden tools, 
she spent much time out of doors. She wrote 
less also, but she was not wilKng to confess to 
invalidism, nor was her daily routine essentially 
changed. She was always '* a little tired," and 
always looking forward to some time when she 
should feel rested again. Alas ! for the poor 
weary body. When could rest come to it, 
while the warm, loving heart beat, and the 
eager, unselfish spirit stirred within it ! 

In one letter she r.ays : 

"I lie down and rise up with the desolation of the 
widow and the childless encompassing me. I pray 
always that God will give wisdom to our rulers, and 
bring peace to this poor land." 

In another, to her sister, " Mary E." : 

"Jfy i^orh is done. I have this morning finished 
* The Good Eeport,' and I come to you to be congratu- 
lated. I have left it to you to revise in case I should not 



THE SUMMER OF 1861. 305 

live to do it. There is little to be done but to copy and 
to transpose some paragraphs which are marked. You 
know how long I have been at it, ever since Ihe Cottage 
days — four years at least ; and if it never sees print, I 
feel fully repaid for the work, by all it has taught me. 
Perhaps this is all it ever will accomplish." 

On September IStli, in her journal: 

" I have a birthday blessing to ask for S., that he may 
be delivered from all ' blindness of heart ; ' the same for my- 
self ; but above all that I may conquer sloth^ my present 
besetting sin, the sin of the year, my sin of -prosperity. 

"This is the answer to my prayer in my regular 
reading : 

" ' Fo7' thou sTialt drive out the Canaanites tliougli 
they have iron chariots^ and ds strong.^ 

" Here are besetting sins described : 

" ' Yet the children of Manasseh could not drive out 
the inhahitants of those cities^ hut the Canaanites icotdd 
dwell in the land."* 

" ' Tet it came to pass when the children of Israel were 
waxen strong, that they put the Canaanites to tribute, 
"but did not utterly drive them out.'' 

" So we rest content with putting limits on om* own 
faults, but do not utterly conquer them. ' The slothful 
soul must tarry there longer.'' Lord grant me grace to 
discover, to avoid, to resist, and to cast out whatever 
is evil within me. And here is the prayer for help for 



306 COUSIN ALICE. 

daily renewed assistance in the lesson of my morning 
reading on my birthday : 

" ' Give me a Messing^ for thou hast given me a south 
land ' (a desire to do right and a knowledge of my duty). 
' Give me also springs of water.' " 

After an enumeration of all the blessings of 
the year, she closes with : 

" Then, too, I am relieved from my nervous head- 
aches, from which I have suffered, with little respite, for 
fifteen years. Last winter appears to have cured them 
entirely. Altogether this has been one of the happiest 
summers of my hfe, in my own family and home, and 
never were happiness and prosperity more undeserved." 

As Thanksgiving Day of 1861 drew near, her 
heart, in its wide identification with the stricken 
and the suffering, poured itself out in a poem, 
which she called 

"IN THE FIRES." * 

THANKSGIVING DAT, 1861. 

Husband and child are not, we turn and falter, 
To-day our hearts with anguished memories swell ; 

How can we bring thanks-offerings to Thine altar, 
Who scarce have learned to say, " My God 'tis well ■' ? 

Thanks we were chosen ? Marked for cruel scourging. 

Thanks for the pangs that wring us yet ? The pain 
Of parting, prayers unheard for all their urging, 

The awful dread — their names told with the dead! 
* " Whirefore glorify ye the Lord in the Jires.'''' 



THE SUMMER OF 1861. 307 

Last year we counted them by tender kisses. 

Thanked Thee with tears for each dear loving face; 

That Thou hast answered even voiceless wishes, 
And now — an empty — echoing, household place ! 

One year, but one, and all this desolation ! 

Bidden a song from out its depths to raise ! 
Sackcloth and ashes gird a stricken nation, 

We cannot cast them off for hymns of praise. 

The widowed wife, the yearning, childless mciher. 
How can tJiey kneel, and say, ^^ I thank Thee Lord^*^ 

Leave them, pass by them, ask it of some other 
"Who counts untouched to-day, the heart's fond hoard. 

But faith takes up and stills such wild desires, 
And God be thanked for those who yet can stand 

To glorify Him even in the fires, 
The martyr fires that light and try the land. 

Another poem must find place liere which 
she never gave to the public. When the news 
came of the burning of Charleston, her heart 
remembered the dear friends whose beautiful 
homes had opened hospitably to her, and her 
young sister still abiding in the fated city ; but 
the significance of the terrible judgment could 
not *be put aside by tender memories, and she 
wrote : 



308 COUSIN ALICE. 



OUR ALAS! 

God is not slack concerning words of promise, 
As men count slackness — His "I will repay," 

Though spoken low, so low we failed to hear it, 
We find fulfilled before our eyes to-day. 

Oh sister city ! lifting thy tall spires. 
Unconscious of the strange avenging fate ! 

Brought from this height to sit in dust and ashes, 
In one short hour cast down and desolate ! 

How quickly had we come thy need to succor. 
Quickly unfurled the white wings of our sails, 

Freighted them with our best, our chiefest treasure. 
And prayed the while for fair and favoring gales. 

But thine own will repelled and cast us from thee, 
Severed the bonds that linked our lives with thine. 

Bared thy proud head to storms that might assault thee> 
Defied all law, the human, the Divine. 

Compelled, we "stand afar to watch thy burning," 

With our alas ! alas ! for thy disdain. 
Raising our useless, helpless hands to Heaven, 

While God sets on thy l^ow the Irand of Cain, 

With her usual earnest interest in everj? 
tiling she could help or forward, Mrs. Haven 
had urged her sister to complete a book which 
had been begun some years before, and thrown 
aside in consequence of the ill-health of the 
writer. Having procured a few of the chapters 



THE SUMMER OF 1861. 309 

without letting her purpose be known, she had 
carried them to a publisher, and obtained from 
him a proposition to publish the work. She 
then told her sister what was done, and left her 
no course to pursue but to finish the writing 
and have it ready in season. So much had been 
done by Mrs. Haven, and it was so entirely 
owing to her that the last impulse as well as the 
first inspiration had been given, that her sister 
desired to dedicate it to her, and asked permis- 
sion to do so, accompanying the request with a 
copy of the dedication she wished to use. It 
was in these words ; and to the sister who had 
so long, so anxiously, and at last so admiringly 
watched the course and growth in character of 
Alice Haven, nothing less seemed just : 

"My Dear Sistee: 

" I owe it to your example and sympathy that I have 
found courage, under the burden. of feeble health and 
exacting home cares, to finish this little book. 

"You have been the best example to me of the 
lessons I strive to teach ; and you have best shown me 
how certainly^ by the grace of God, tlie victory is given 
to such as struggle in humble patience, and in self- 
abnegation, with the infirmities of our nature. 

"May I not then dedicate to you these. pages, in which 
44 



SIO COUSIN ALICE. 

I would point others to the heights all may reach, who 
lay down self to serve God and bless the world ? 

" I am sm-e you will add to mine, your prayers that 
the blessing of God, which you have never sought in 
vain upon your work, may rest on mine. 

" With respect and love born of our tender relation- 
ship, and nourished to maturity by this mutual service, 
" I am always your loving sister, 

" 0. H. B. E." 

This answer was returned : 

"And now I must say how much your dedication 
surprised and touched me; but, dear sister, if I suffer 
myself to listen to the ' well done ' here, I shall miss it 
hereafter. You know it is my greatest temptation. I 
cannot think that it is right to let it go out. S. will like 
it from you, but whether he will like to have it printed I 
cannot tell. I think not." 

To a long plea for its publication, made by 
her sister in her next letter, she replied : 

" I do not undervalue commendation, far from it. 
Sometimes you have written words of appreciation that 
have cheered, and comforted, and helped me, as nothing 
else could. We all hke to know that some one we trust 
appreciates us ; it helps us to put up with the indifference 
and undervaluation of every-day people. Sometimes 
when I have felt myself misunderstood and unappreciat- 
ed by some connected with me, by those around me, 



THE SUMMER OF 1861. 311 

when this has pressed heavily, I have felt that there was 
One wTio did Icnow my struggle to help and uphold those 
to whom I refer, and who have seemed ready ' to turn 
again and rend me'' — how I have borne with them, and 
tried to make them happy. It has taught me ' to do it 
as unto the Lord.,'' and to leave all my doings unto ' my 
Father loMcTi seeth in secret ' for reward, not even seek- 
ing, or rather not depending upon a recognition of effort 
by those for whom it was made. One does look for it 
unconsciously, but it does not hurt me as it used to, when 
I don't find it; and again, when I do, from you especially, 
I feel ^ God sends it,' and so it is doubly sweet. 

" You say you praise me because I have overcome 
faults. I never work against faults of character. I 
strive against sins, that is the overcoming with me. I 
iCarned to get up in season that we might have prayers 
before S. went to town, because I knew it was wrong to 
neglect them. I tried to check a tendency to exaggera- 
tion, not because it was a blemish, but an untruth ; so of 
irritability and all the rest of the train. 

"Don't think your dedication did not touch and 
j)lease me. It only seemed so much too high praise; and 
of course if written by a sister I must know of it, and 
sanction it ; while if a friend had done it, people could not 
say 'how egotistical,' or 'mutual admiration,' or any of 
those things which they like to charge against literary 
people ; and I could not bear to have any thing meant 
so truly and tenderly, subjected to ill-natured remarks. 
You must understand me just as I mean, that I strive so 



312 COUSIN ALICE. 

hard for humility, and not to think of myself more highly 
than I ought to think, that this seems to set me, as we 
once said, ' at the top of the ladder, instead of the foot of 
the Cross.' 

"You know if people compliment you on certain 
things that you set no value on, you are not in the least 
moved if the praise is ever so glowing ; but if they touch 
certain other points, things you do aspire to, it reaches 
you. So it is with me ; all my ambition and endeavour 
being set this way, to be called ' good ' is more to me 
than all that could be said in any other form of praise. 
Therefore I am afraid of it. 

" I don't believe now, that I have made you compre- 
hend me. I am afraid you will think me cold, when you 
have paid me the highest and tenderest tribute one 
mother's child could pay another ; but you asked me to 
talk aboiit it, and pen and ink are so slow and blundering." 

The dedication was used notwitlistanding 
tliis protest, thougli after the publication of the 
book, Mrs. Haven felt it even more than she 
thought, and never loaned or gave away a copy 
of " Springs of Action," without an apology for 
the personality. 

In the success of this work, and all others 
that her sister had written, and especially in the 
literary success of her young sister-in-law, Mary 
E. Eradley, whose ventui-es as an authoress 



THE SUMMER Oi^ 1861. 313 

appeared from time to time, Mrs. Haven was 
keenly interested. Her suggestions were wise 
in regard to the execution of a book, and its 
publication. Even to ber brotber-in-law, after 
bis long intimacy witb tbe book-world, ber sug- 
gestions were often valuable. 

Sbe kept berself informed of tbe condition 
of tbe book market, understood and used ber 
tact for tbe benefit of all in wbom sbe was 
interested, which was all whom she could serve. 

I^ot infrequently foreign books were sub- 
mitted to ber judgment by publishers who were 
not certain of their value for republication. In 
ber quiet country home there was always a 
fresh book atmosphere, a consciousness to tbe 
guest that intellectual needs could be satisfied, 
and stimulus found. She says of an occasional 
visitor, who was peculiarly able to minister to 
this attraction of " The Willows" : 

"It is delightful to get afresli breeze from the literary 
world, as I always do with M. I cannot take mucli of it, 
because I find it exciting and stimulating beyond what I 
am able to bear now. His short visits, with his good 
music, and his rich, fresh nature and knowledge, bring me 
great pleasure. At first, I grew restless sometimes, when 



314 COUSIN ALICE. 

it forced upon me the contrast between my old life and 
this, so dull to the supei-ficial observer ; but I soon return 
to a healthful appreciation of the blessedness of my lot. 
I know you always wonder at my content so ' far from 
the spot in the lake where the stone di'ops in,' as Mrs. S. 
says. You do not realize what this life has done for me, 
how it has been God's greatest blessing, for which I 
never can be thankful enough." 

There are some who dread, and who com- 
plain of stagnation in slow currents, or the 
quiet pool. Stagnation was impossible to one 
in whose soul living waters were pouring out 
their sweetness ; to one whose great, warm heart 
was always ready to nourish a brain too active 
and creative to suffer from depletion in the 
keenest excitement, or stagnation in the dullest 
routine. 



CHAPTEE YI 



HER FIRST ILLN-ESS. 




PIE delicate health of Mrs. Haven 
saw no improvement during 1861. 
At first, as we have seen, she strug- 
gled against her weariness, consid- 
ering it simply a disinclination to exertion, now 
that the pressure of past years was taken off. 
She had seen some whom she had been educating 
become self-supporting, and many whom she 
had assisted pecuniarily, placed in more favora- 
ble circumstances. Mr. Haven was prosperous ■ 
in business, and new channels did not open 
before her as formerly ; she could not but feel 
that God was requiring less of her. 

A peculiar disposition of her leisure now 
occurred to her. She wrote letters to all in 



316 COUSIN ALICK 

wliom slie was especially interested, to every 
person for whose welfare she hacl ever Lad a 
feeling of responsibility. She did not speak of 
this at the time, bnt it came to light in varions 
ways before a twelve-month had passed. After 
she had become too ill to attend to her letters, 
and even after she had left the country, some of 
these letters found their way back which had 
been sent by her to her old Sunday School 
pupils in Philadelphia, from the "Dead Letter" 
office. Children, who had now become men and 
women, were startled by a word from their 
former teacher, or through their change of resi- 
dence failed to receive the affectionate appeals 
she sent to them. She wrote to, or sought out 
every person who had ever been in her employ, 
or whom she had befriended, and could still 
reach. Once afterwards, she said of this im- 
pulse : 

" I do not know wliat impelled me ; partly, 
perhaps, an unacknowledged consciousness that 
my life was drawing to a close ; partly that 
having more leisure I went back to the old 
channels." 

It must be remarked that these were not the 



HER FIRST ILLNESS. Oil 

first letters written to lier old Sunday School 
pupils. Amongst her papers were found many 
letters written to lier year after year, in reply to 
hers addressed to them ; what these had been 
the letters in reply bore witness to. There 
were also letters from many others who looked 
to her as their guide in spiritual things. Some 
wrote regularly once a year, frequently at Christ- 
mas times, bringing their offering of grateful 
affection, their unfailing acknowledgment of 
her tender care and faithfulness. JSTeither time, 
nor distance, nor change of circumstance, ever 
sufiiced to efface her interest in these, or to 
relieve her of her sense of responsibility for 
influence, or the means to aid others. 

In one case a lad who had been led to Christ 
by the reading of one of her Sunday School 
books, encouraged by her, devoted himself to the 
Christian ministry. She took the most affec- 
tionate interest in her ' godson,' as she used to 
style him, and his Christmas offering was always 
welcomed with more than common thankful- 
ness by her. As a clergyman of the Episcopal 
Church, he is now bringing in the sheaves from 

her sowing, as do many others in other callings, 
14* 



818 COUSIN ALICE. 

who have been taught by her to sanctify their 
gifts to the service of the Master. 

During the autumn of 1861 one cold follow- 
ed another ; she had restless, feverish days and 
nights, and finally plueritic symptoms. The 
idea of danger to herself had now to be some- 
times admitted ; but then she still seemed to have 
so much to do, and her life-work had been 
so blessed in its doing, that she was most reluc- 
tant to believe it could be closing. Her refer- 
ences in her letters to her health were always 
such as could relieve the fears of her friends, and 
encourage them to believe that she suffered 
little. She spoke of it seldom, and slightly, and 
often in a vein of humor, as if she was magnify- 
ing the ill ; but those who knew her, even those 
who read her cheerful letters, were not deceived. 
The hollow cheek with its bright hectic, the 
languid eye, and di'ooping lid, and bent shoul- 
ders were unerring indications of her condition. 

To " Mary E." she wrote in January, 
1862: 

" I thank you very much for your note, which I can- 
not pretend to answer. I am afi-aid of my pen, hut I 
mean to live to take my revenge on it for getting me into 



HER FIRST ILLNESS. 319 

so much trouble. I have been preparing for this cold for 
a long time, and only fear I was too well prepared for it ! 
I think it is breaking up for good. The pleuritic pain, 
which was the worst of all, is gone. I told mother to tell 
you 'that I did not think any one fully appreciated my 
danger but you. When you are determined on being 
' dangerous ' if any body tells you ' you don't look ill, 
Mrs. H,' or ' not half as ill as I expected,' it's very irritat- 
ing indeed, and a great relief to have one sympathetic 
fi'iend think there's something in it. S. won't let me 
stir out, or write a line if he knows it ; and only think of 
S. P. and the G.'s, and everybody else in town, who won't 
came again for a year ! I have been babyish enough to 
feel the disappointment. 

" Only think of the selfish happiness of thinking peo- 
ple would miss you if you really did die ! It was quite 
a new idea, and I hugged it ! I really looked for your 
note. I knew yoii'd be sorry." 

At last news came to those who loved ter, 
that Alice Haven was prostrated by a fearful 
hemorrhage ; and to all who knew of her devoted 
life, and especially to the few who had come to 
know the care with which she seemed to he set- 
tling all those affairs to which she had given such 
anxious thought, this illness was thought to be 
death's harbinger indeed. But she can best tell 
the story. She lived through the peril of the 



320 COUSIN ALICE. 

attack, and on the 13tli of September, 1862, we 
find another birthday record : 

" My thirty-fifth hirthday ! ' Half way home,' even at 
the longest, and, as it would seem, much nearer in reality. 

" I have a record of watchful care and kindness to 
make. The sloth which I grieved over a year ago to-day, 
was in some respects not a fanlt, as I look hack upon it ; 
and though cheerful and joyful even, all the autumn and 
during the early part of the winter, I was tired and very 
feverish, with a constant slight cough, rattling respiration, 
and a slight sore throat. 

" Dr. P. made light of it, and I paid little attention 
to it myself till after GJiristmas. Louy was very ill from 
Christmas till New Year's Day. I took a heavy cold 
ahout the same time, and had a cough and hectic fever 
every night. Up to January 1st I wrote regularly (be- 
sides often assisting in some household duties), to finish 
up in advance six months of my work on the Lady's 
Book, little thinking it was my last ! I intended then 
to commence rewriting 'The Good Eeport,' which I 
had finished in August. The first two weeks of the 
New Year, I hurried to prepare an article for ' Harper,' 
on St. Croix, which after all they have not used, though 
it was the last stroke in bringing on my illness. In fact 
it was all written in pain and exhaustion." 

" Jan. 2'dth. 
" I had a severe attack of pleurisy, and suffered much, 
my cough growing deeper and deeper. _ I began to make 



HER FIRST ILLNESS. 321 

arrangements for going to town for change of air and 
scene. S. proposed tliat I should visit a friend in Thirty- 
ninth Street instead of going to a hotel,. as was our first 
intention. 

« I consulted Dr. G. first, who told me that I was 
threatened with ' old-fashioned consumption,' and must 
use great care, that my left lung was already affected. 
On February 13th, after having made unusual exertion to 
talk the evening before to a gentleman who was partially 
deaf, I sat reading my morning lesson, when the words: 
* This sicJmess is not unto death,' came into my mind. 
For a time I did not associate any idea with them, but 
they returned so persistently that I turned to chapter and 
verse and read them. A moment or two after I found 
that I was raising blood for the first time. Alarmed at 
first, the text was at once a promise and comfort that 
never left me." 

The day before this occurred Mrs. Haven 
liad driven out, and knowing that a friend was 
in deep sorrow, had paid her a visit. She was 
asked up-stairs to the lady's own room. She 
said, for a moment, she thought it impossible to 
go up those two flights of stairs, but the hope 
of being able to say a comforting word was so 
strong, that she toiled up to the third story, 
though almost too much exhausted to speak 
when she entered the room. 



322 COUSIN ALICE. 

The journal goes on : 

" I had risen and dressed on Saturday, and was making 
my way to tlie library, for I remembered some writing 
which must be done, indeed I had been occupied part of 
the week in getting material for the expected article. I 
managed to supply the opening pages, when a hemorrhage 
came on, and I laid down my pen for a napkin, which 
a servant brought me. I had done my last work of that 
kind! 

" The hemorrhage lasted from twelve till iSve, with 
intervals of rest. S. came in just at the last and helped 
me to bed. He said as he opened the hall door he heard 
me cough, and knew by the gurgling sound accompany- 
ing it what was going on. My friend was exceedingly 
kind, doing all that a sister could have done. I regretted 
extremely the unforeseen care and exertion that thus came 
upon her. During the night I made up my mind that it 
was a violent attack. of pneumonia, relieved by the 
hemorrhage, and that I should get perfectly well again ; 
but Dr. Parker said distinctly the next day that there 
were tubercles on the right lung, and that I must think 
of, and care for myself as an invalid. 

" The prospect of death in that extreme exhaustion 
would not have been so hard to bear, as this doom to tho 
weary, care-worn life of an invalid, wandering about for 
health ; pitied, discussed as such, sTiut out from active 
employment. It was what I had never looked forward 
to for myself, and for a time my courage and faith entire- 



HER FIRST ILLNESS. 323 

Ij failed me. I knew I had deserved this. I had even 
talked lightly of the possibility of my death with Mr. H. 
and others. I knew being allowed to give way thus, was 
a punishment." • 

A few days after slie said to lier sister, wlio 
had corae to her as soon as she heard of her 
illness : 

" I think I was punished for another thing. 
I really think I had done one of the most faith- 
less deeds of my life. I was growing covetous, 
grasping, and was unmindful of the promises I 
have leaned on so many years, which have never 
failed me." 

' Then after an interval, indeed all this was 
said very slowly, and almost in a whisper : 

"I had begun to think that perhaps God 
was giving us now what he meant us to 
put aside, as you know I have never done for 
the children or myself, something for the future. 
S. has his capital in his business. Some day it 
might be lost again, as before. So this winter I 
began my saving, putting into bank three hun- 
dred dollars, a beginning toward a sum to be 
expended in the education of the children. As 
soon as I did this, God took my work out of my 



324 COUSIN ALICE. 

hands. It was not the way he wished me to 
use what I have always felt to be money entrust- 
ed to me for His service ; and you know, sister, 
till this temptation came it has been spent so 
unreservedly, and thus I was shown my error. 
If I can ever work again, how faithfully will I do 
His work, and I may^ for I know ' this sichiess 
is not unto deaths " 

The listener to these broken and faintly- 
uttered words, looked at the fragile being before 
her, and at the transparent little hand that for 
so many years had wrought so nobly in His 
service, and felt that this condemnation of self 
could not be merited, would never have come to 
a mind and conscience less tender and true, and 
fall of *love of the service which had occupied 
the best years of her life, and many, manv 
hours of pain and weakness. 

Her journal continues : 

"While I lay there so helpless, and wishing they 
would ' let me go down,' and not make me struggle for 
life, S. was called from the room. They were afraid to 
teU me that Katie had come from Charleston ; hut / 
Icneuo it must le so, and tJiat great anxiety was at an end. 
She had heen brought safely through the horrors of war, 



HER FIRST ILLNESS. 825 

under tlio last flag of truce that was allowed for many 
montlis. She was here to remain at ' The Willows ' with 
our mother and the children, in case we went away 
again, as was possible if I recovered enough to go. 

" The way was thus open to me, and my path was 
made clear. I felt as I had never done before, that I 
should never again doubt God's guidance and tenderness. 
But I shall, a thousand times, if I live long enough ! 

" I was so weak at first that I could not rise in bed. 
Every one was very kind and attentive. By "Wednesday 
sister came, and the next Saturday I saw mother and 
the children; poor little things, they little knew what 
threatened them ! 

" The plans for our going away ended in our taking 
passage for ISTassau, in the steamer of March 1st. I 
gained steadily and rapidly, and was able to be carried 
out home for a day or two. On the 1st I was brought in 
town to stay at a hotel till the steamer sailed. ' Goodness 
and mercy followed one ' from first to last. Sister was 
with me, and many friends called." 

An incident may be mentioned sliowing tlie 
care and attention to her comfort and her wishes 
which awaited her all the time, and causes such 
grateful acknowledgments. The friend whose 
visits to " The Willows," and whose singing of 
sacred music gave her such especial pleasure, was 
living at this hotel. She had said, speaking of 



326 COUSIN ALICE. 

lier loneliness on the previous Sunday evening • 
" How mucli I wished as I was lying up-stairs 
in my room, that M. would come and play and 
sing for me. The music of ' Oh cast thy burden 
on the Lord,' with its sweeter meaning, floated 
through my mind all the evening." 

This was mentioned to the gentleman. 
When he found that a room had been engaged 
at the hotel for Mrs. Haven, he made an effort 
at once to get a larger and more quiet room 
than could be had at the time of the engage- 
ment. Into this he placed a piano ; and when 
she was brought in and saw the ample room 
with its glowing fire, luxurious couch and easy 
chairs, all the result of his thoughtfulness, fresh 
flowers, new books and open piano, she said, 
looking about in astordshment, "What Prima 
Donna has just gone away ? " 

During the three or four days which they 
had to wait for the sailing of the Karnak, which 
was waiting for European mails, her health con- 
tinued to improve. She was able to see her 
friends, and to enjoy their conversation, though 
she could not take much part in it. She was 
refreshed with the music she had coveted when- 



HER FIRST ILLNESS. 327 

ever slie was able to listen to it, and slie never 
wearied of the sweet " sentence " wliich had 
comforted her that Snndaj evening. The tears 
trickled through her thin fingers as she lay on 
the couch, in her usual attitude, with her hand 
over her eyes ; but her heart was filled and 
satisfied with the consciousness that " goodness 
and mercy followed her from first to last." 

" What a precious Sabbath ! " she said, as the 
music ceased, and she had listened to the read- 
ing of a favorite chapter, " I have worshipped, 
' giving thanks ' all day long." 

She was supported from her room to the 
carriage, and so to the ship, but she was already 
making rapid strides toward a recovery. 

In her first letter from ISTassau, to her sister, 
she writes : 

" I have walked a mile, and can do any number of 
staii-s. "When you recall me as you saw me last, this will 
seem incredible ; but the voyage and the climate have 
done wonders. I have yet reached no greater weight 
than eighty-fom* pounds." 

At -N'assau she wrote the verses recently 
published for the first time, written for a friend 
there, for they found the place full of invalids : 



328 COUSIN ALICE. 



IN THE VALLEY. 

Geatly sloped the rugged pathway 

To her fainting, faiUng tread, 
Downward to the dreary valley 

By her Saviour gently led. 
. Day by day she neared the darkness, 

Leaning on that steadfast arm ; 
As a child who fears no danger, 

Shrinks not from approaching harm;. 
Till she walked within the shadow, 

Little dreaming where she trod. 
Knowing not, the " staff" sustaining, 

That she passed beneath the "rod;" 
Knowing not how short the distance 

To the home she longed to see ; 
Thinking in the far-off future 

There were terrors yet to be. • 

For the love in which she trusted, 

Upward drew her waiting eyes ; 
Till we saw them change and brighten 

With a smile of glad surprise. 
She had guessed not of the darkness. 

Till she saw the breaking day. 
Caught no glimpse of death's dark shadows 

Till they changed and fled away. 
Gentle life, with gentlest closing, 

Could we wish for aught more blest. 
Could we ask more sweet transition 

To the promised land of rest ? 

As tlie editor of the Lady's Book says ; " It 



HER FIRST ILLNESS. 329 

depicts SO truthfully her own future, that it 
seems like a whispering from the angels of her 
own ' transition to the land of rest.' " 

Their time at ISTassau passed very pleasantly, 
except the drawback of a little depression in 
consequence of the suffering, in some cases so 
helpless which they saw about them. Some of 
their letters to residents of the island had been 
sent them by an aged lady, the widow of a 
former official there. She paid Mrs. Haven the 
graceful compliment of sending to each person 
to whom she gave her a letter, a copy of one of 
her own books ! 

They expected to return in the Karnak; but 
while watching her enter the harbor, on her 
way back from Havana, the steamer struck on 
a rock, and went down in their sight. They 
therefore w^ere compelled, she says, " to set sail 
in a crowded vessel, ' The Alma,' and had a 
dull, comfortless voyage of ten days ; but I 
returned so well, without even a lingering cough. 
I continued so up to this month (September), 
wonderfully well, and able to accomplish all 
usual social and domestic duties." 




CHAPTEE YII. 

AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH. 

'IT tlie summer of 1862 Mrs. Haven 
seemed to regain sometlimg of the 
old poise. She was careful of over- 
exertion, after the serious warning of 
the year before, and she never returned to her 
old habits of writing. Only after long intervals, 
and then for a short period, would she venture to 
use her pen. Of this enforced state of things, 
the consequence of severe compulsion and sense 
of duty, she says : 

" The hardest trial growing out of my illness has 
been to obey the advice of my physicians, both Dr. Grey 
and Dr. Parker, and lay aside my pen. After sixteen 
years of constant professional occupation, it was a strug- 
gle no human friend can appreciate to give up my busi- 
ness engagements. 



AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH. 331 

"Witli regard to being relieved from the long drudg- 
ery of my work, this was from the first constantly in my 
mind,/(?r I saw Gocfs own hand in the clear signature of 
the release^ '' I eased his shoulders from the hurden^ and 
Ms hands tcere delivered from malcing the iwts.'' " 

Some disappointments attended wliat had 
been natural expectations, wlien she gave up her 
engagements, one of which particularly gave her 
great pain. She writes : 

" I depend too much upon appreciation. This was to 
show me that I must remain satisfied with waiting for 
the ' well done ' hereafter. It was a blessing in disguise, 
that the choice of a return to my work was not given to 
me, as I never should have thought it right to gite up the 
occupation at all, from the belief that all that I could earn 
(when spent conscientiously for others, as I had opportu- 
nity) was a duty. Therefore, it was clearly taken out of 
my hands. As I should have hesitated about taking it 
up again, no choice was allowed me. 

"Yet at the time this was most painful; the un- 
certainty about the future of some very dear to me, the 
finding other channels for employment, and being thrown 
so entirely from the old activity. 

" S. would say, ' Why do you grieve over it ? You 
have long worried because you wanted more time for 
your children, or your studies, or social duties. Now it 
is given, why do you fret? ' 



332 



COUSm ALICE. 



"In one of these depressed hours I came upon this, 
which was at the moment, and has been since, the greatest 
comfort : ' Waste not your time in fears and thoughts of 
the future, in this world. To you tlie future may le 
short. The things you most fear will jprotdbly never 
disturb you. If evils come, they will probably be such 
as no foresight of man can anticipate. ' Trust in the 
Lord and do good ; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and 
verily thou shall lefed. Delight thyself also in the Lord., 
and Ee shall give thee the desire of thy heart.'' " 

In tlie August of this summer she was per- 
suaded to accompany her brother-in-law, and 
some other friends, to Magara : "I have so 
many uses for money, there are so many who 
need what it would cost to take a pleasure trip, 
that I never have a sense of ^ase and enjoyment 
in spendmg it on myself," had been one of her 
objections to the journey ; another was her un- 
willingness to be absent from home over Sunday, 
the day when her husband was at leisure, and 
she knew she had it in her power to contribute 
much to his happiness. This, during all her 
married life, had been a constantly-urged ob- 
jection to her making long visits or journeys 
when he did not accompany her. Her visits to 
Philadelphia, to her mother or sister, had always 



AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH. 333 

been within a week's limit, if possible, for this 
reason: "You don't realize bow mucb I am 
needed on Sundays. I could not be bappy my- 
self, knowing bow be was missing me," sbe 
would say. 

All objections overcome tbrougb tbe urgency 
of those who wished her to hate the pleasure, 
once so singularly, and since then, so indefinitely 
deferred, she went up to Hudson, where sbe 
spent a few days, leaving her oldest child and 
her oldest nephew, who was spending the sum- 
mer vacation with her, in the care of some rela- 
i;ions, and then proceeded to join the party, who 
were en route at Albany. Her enjoyment of 
the journey was extreme and perfect. All were 
surprised at tbe exertion sbe was able to make 
in their excursions .at the Falls, walking and 
even clinibing almost as well as the best. She 
wrote to her sister :" 

"It was an unclouded visit. The weather, health, 
and I think everybody's temper and spirits were all we 
could wish. I have not seen W. so buoyant, so like his 
old self for many a day. That alone would have been 
enjoyment for me. It made me think of our old childish 
Claverack Falls' trips. Can you remember so long ago ? 
15 



S34 COUSIN ALICE. 

"As for ITiagara, it was lovelier and grander than 
ever I had imagined or expected. I am only sorry that 
I can never see it again for tlie first time. Every point 
was finer than the last. The two grandest views to me 
were from under the cliff on the Canada side, and from 
the tower on the American. I can easily understand 
your awe on seeing it as you did at midnight, and with 
rising clouds at intervals obscuring the moonlight, while 
a storm wind raged around the tower, for in the broad 
day light, and familiar with the scene, I was really a 
coward, standing on that balcony. The force and persist- 
ence of the steady fall impressed me most, and the ages 
in which that chasm had been forming, sawn back into 
the solid rock. 

" You see I have not much to say. I had notliing to 
say then." 

To a friend who was with them, she said 
a few days before her death, " It was the 
most perfect xjl^^sure tri^ I ever took ; " 
indeed her enjoyment was as complete as 
every pi^lse throbbing with delight could 
make it. 

There was one period of her life when 
pleasure seemed to pall on her taste, when she 
turned with indifference, if not disgust, from 
every thing which did not offer the zestful 
flavor of a duty performed or a service render- 



AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH. 335 

ed. Her satisfaction in this journey, and indeed 
in all tlie recreation she allowed herself in these 
later years, was as hearty and complete as in 
the childish days to which she refers. Her 
confidence in the Divine gnidance,- so invaria- 
bly sought by her, gave her the simple perfect 
happiness of a child, trusting still in the leading 
of a Father's hand. 

It was during this summer that she occupied 
herself in the hospital w^ork, out of which grev/ 
a story for Harper, which made a great impres- 
sion at the time of its publication. Man;^^ 
tender and brave heart was stirred up l)y it " to 
go and do likewise," and scores of soldiers wrote 
to her and to the publishers thanking them for 
it, and invoking blessings on the hand that pen- 
ned it. ITotning that she ever wrote brought 
her a richer and quicker reward of the sort 
which best repaid her for her exertion. The 
sketch was called " One Day," and was publish- 
ed in the October Hai^per, 1862. She was so 
liberally paid for this story by the courteous 
publishers, that she found herself able from the 
proceeds to publish a little tract which she VvTote, 
called "In the Hospitals," a simple, sweet 



b36 COUSIN ALICE. 

appeal, written as slie talked, wliicli lias gon^ 
home to many a soldier's heart, carrying convic- 
tion and comfort alike. 

A hospital had been erected on David's 
Island, near. ITew Eochelle, and about five miles 
from Mrs. Haven's home. To this place she 
went twice a week in company with some other 
benevolent ladies, each carrying a basket stored 
with delicate viands for the sick and wounded, 
and she bearing to all, such " words in season " as 
were never wanting from her lips. The long 
drive, and the exertion during the heat of sum- 
mer, became after some two months too much 
for her delicate health, and she had to relinquish 
the personal service ; but she continued to pre- 
j)are her baskets of delicacies, and when her lips 
could no longer speak to them, ^he employed 
her pen as we have seen. 

Of this, and of every good word and work 
with which her life was crowded, there is no 
record in her journal. The knowledge has 
come to us by the testimony of those who shared 
this service with her, and from the many served 
during all her life of love and labor ; but this 
testimony has been abundant, so much so that 



AN INTI^RVAL OF HEALTH. 337 

were the limits of tliis record enlarged, and were 
not many of the tributes from those she bene- 
fited too delicate and personal in their char- 
acter for publication, a second volume could 
be prepared with its history of " this deedful 
life." 

In only one letter can there be found a refer- 
ence to what she had do7ie. This was called out 
by a remark which seemed to attribute selfish- 
ness to her in seeking to withdraw from inter- 
ference in a matter painfully agitated between 
some whom she loved. Her sympathy only had 
been sought in the case, but she could never give 
that alone when she saw any thing else that she 
could do ; and this active sympathy was too 
much for her strength. It was no selfish feeling, 
however, that had prompted the wise counsel 
she here repeats with its reference to her own 
experience and practice. That it might possi- 
bly, even by those who knew and loved her most 
tenderly, be attributed to such a trait, for she saw 
less unselfishness in herself than others could 
possibly allow in their estimate of her ; or that 
it might be traced to selfish influence which she 
was conscious of having often to resist in the 



388 COUSIN ALICE. 

advice of others, hurt her, even in her humility, 
and she writes : 

" I make a distinction of late wherein I claim sympa- 
thy or counsel of earthly love or wisdom. In God-sent 
trials, or present troubles, I am as ready to claim it as 
any one, where I think my friend is ready to gi^e it with- 
out adding too heavily to her own heavy cares or trials. 
I do not give voice to the mood of the moment often ; to 
its weariness, its pain, its dread, even when I know hom-s 
of agony are before me, because I may be speaking or 
writing to some one who will share it too keenly with 
less strength perhaps than myself, or again when I know 
all the time that it is a transient evil, and by the time my 
cloud oppresses them it will have passed from me. Then 
there are some subjects which I can take to God alone; 
domestic grievances, should any such arise, injustice, 
things which human sympathy could not reach, or icheji 
it would wrong anotlier to claim it. This I have learned 
by bitter experience, by having to strive for years, too often 
vainly, to rekindle the dead love of one person for another, 
destroyed at the first by my eager demand for justice, 
simple justice only to myself. I could forgive, I did do 

that, but never forgives. I kindled a fire I could 

not put out. Do you see? / might Tiave lornc all 
tfiese things in silence. ISTo, you cannot see. You have 
never had this terrible experience ; but it has been one 
of the pangs of my life, and since then I have been shown 
' a more excellent icay.'' I have found all tlie rest and sym- 



AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH. 339 

patliy, and justification of ^e^/'tliat I conld have needed, on 
mj knees, often with bitter floods of tears, between mo 
and God alone. He has taught me that it is no figure of 
speech, ' Come unto me^ all ye that lator and are Jieaxy 
laden.'' 

"Do not think that I set myself up to do without hu- 
man love and interest, or that I in the least undervalue 
it. You know that I have much more than most wives 
from my husband. You know, too, or if you don't I wish 
you did, how precious and helpful yours, and my mother's, 
and that of many others has been to me in my dark days; 
how at times I hunger and thii-st after yours particularly, 
how gratefully it always comes to me. I almost despair 
of making you understand what I do mean. But you 
rnow how r-eady I am to give it. Could one of my 
mot'her''s children le otherwise I Bo I not strive ' to ful- 
fl the law of Christ in the lurden hearing of others^'' not 
only for those I love, but for every person, where I have 
even little or no personal interest. You have seen my 
life and its effort. You can tell." 

There were circiiuQ stances which made it 
desirable that the coming winter should be pass- 
ed in the country, but " The Willows " with its 
distance from the city and its i3roximity to the 
sea would be a trial to the health of both Mr. 
und Mrs. Haven, and they concluded to spend 
the winter in the city. They therefore came in 



340 COUSIN ALICE. 

town for the winter montlis with their children, 
fixing their residence in Sixteenth Street, in the 
neighborhood of St. George's Chnrch. During 
the winter Mrs. Haven attended service there, 
whenever it was possible for her to go ont. The 
force and fervor of Dr. Tjng's sermons, and the 
vigorous and wholesome activity of his life, inspir- 
ed her with respect and affection. Her own prac- 
tice for years had been an illustration of what he 
taught, and his earnest appeals to his congrega- 
tion to the leading of a life energized by Chris- 
tian love, stirred her as the sound of a trumpet 
quickens the blood in the veins of the spent 
soldier. In her letters to her friends she repeat- 
ed these appeals, praying for blessings and long 
life for this preacher of righteousness. 

On the 1st of December, 1862, she makes 
the following peculiar record. There are many 
of a similar character, showing how her faith 
and trust were continually rewarded till she had 
indeed " come to believe that she had all that 
she prayed for " : 

" While it is still fresh in my mind, let me put on 
record one of the sweetest tokens of God's goodness that 
I have ever received. 



AJV INTERVAL OF HEALTH. 341 

' ' When I began to work a little in tlie past summer, 
I. hesitated as to whether I should work wholly on ' The 
Good Eeport,' 'which I was anxious to copy entirely my- 
self, or write as I had at first intended, some magazine 
stories ; for it was strange to me, and not quite comfort- 
able, always to have no money of my own to fall back 
upon. I could do so little every day, only one hour's 
work, that I could accomplish but one of these things, 
and to help my decision came back the promise, ' Trust 
in the Lord and do good^ and verily thou shalt lefed.'' 

" So I trusted to Him, and, save the hospital story 
called 'One Day,' and a. story for the Weekly, on the 
same subject, both of which grew natm*ally out of my 
hospital work — I wrote only on ' The Good Report.' But 
I was so well paid for my story, and S. has been so much 
prospered, that I have had abundantly all the money I 
could wish for myself and others. 

" When I returned from Philadelphia last month, and 
fairly settled down for the winter, the same question 
came up for my Christmas money, for which I have 
always done some special writing, for I have been in the 
habit of making the most expensive purchases myself, 
besides what we did together. Our expenditure has been 
very great this year ; extraordinary demands have been 
made upon our purses, and besides this I had my own 
special objects which S. might not think necessary. 

"But then, if I wrote my stories, it wotfld be after 
Kew Year's before I could get at my book, and I might 
be sick again, or die with it unaccomplished. As an 
15* 



342 COUSIN ALICE. 

answer again came, ' Trust in the Lord and le doing good, 
trust also in Him and He shall Iring it to pass.'' I hoped 
and believed that in writing this book, I loas doing good; 
whetlier it ever came to any thing or not my motive was 
pure. So I trusted. I took up my book on the 13th 
day with great and renewed interest. I worked ten days. 
On Friday, the evening of the 21st, so soon ! — S. said 
to me: 

" ' See, I have appropriated this to your Christmas 
expenses,' and he counted out nearly forty dollars into 
my hand. 

"I received it with a mingling of pleasure and dis- 
appointment — pleasui'e because the means had been pro- 
vided, disappointment because it would accomplish so 
small a part of what I intended. So I took it and thanked 
him, and said to myself, ' Well, if God does not send mo 
any more, it is not right that I should do these things, 
though it seemed so.' 

" S. watched my face for a few moments : ' You are 
disappointed. You are not obliged to me ? ' 

" ' Yes, dear, I am very much. I had no rigbt to 
expect any thing.' 

" ' Why are you disappointed, then ? ' 

" ' Because it will not do all I wanted to do.' 

" ' What did you want to do ? ' 

" ' Oh, it does not matter since I cannot do it.' 

" ' But I want to hear,' and he took out a pencil and 
made me tell him the princip'id items. They came to over 
sixty dollars. 



AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH. 343 

" ' Well, I will not tease jou any longer,' and he put 
another bill into my hands. ' I meant this for you too.' 

" It was a bill for one hundred dollars. I gave one 
glance, and began to cry 'as usual. The revulsion over- 
came me, the seal of my rewarded trust was so wonderfuL 

" ' What brings the tears ? ' 

" It was a long time before I could tell him aU, how, 
in the first place, I had trusted for the money, and left it 
all to Him. The signal answer to my faith, was as 
wonderful as if lie had spoken directly to me from 
Heaven. Then there was the pleasure before me of 
accomplishing my wishes, but that was the very least. 
He owned my iDorh as it were. He had sent me my 
wages, and if He accepted my' book. He would bless it 
and make it useful as I have so -long hoped and prayed. 

" But it was also a pledge for the futm'e. If He was 
faithful in that which was least, He would provide for my 
needs in greater things." 

She goes on with, a re^dew of certain tilings 
which tried her faith very sorely, and had been 
making her heart very heavy, and she says : 

" This was all natural, and very human, but here was 
a pledge to drive away my latest, most unspoken fears, 
and how could I but accept it, and be tearfully thankful, 
when my heart had for so many days carried and strug- 
gled with such a burden? 

" So I put it on record as a help in some dark, dis- 



344 



COUSIN ALICE. 



trustful day in the future, but chiefly to remember God's 
great and unmerited goodness, ' giving more than we can 
ask or think.' " 

And slie quotes, after this triumph of her 
faith, the beautiful metrical version of the 145th 
Psalm, " which brings back to me," she sajs, " so 
many iappy Sunday afternoons in the dear 
little church at Mamaroneck." 




CHAPTEE YIII. 

HER LAST JOURNAL. 

''Feb. im, 1863. 

'T is a yeai* ago to-day by the day of the 
montli, since I lay so helpless and suffering 
at Mrs. F.'s. A year by the day of the 
week, since that Sunday noon, on which 
Dr. Parker told me that my life was in danger from 
seated disease of the lungs. I promised myself and my 
God if He would spare me a little longer to recover 
strength, that I would use every moment of the added 
time as a precious gift, and in His service. Especially to 
be more faithful in instructing and in praying for my 
children, and in helping others out of darkness into His 
light. 

" In looking back on the year, in which not only has 
my life been spared so wonderfully, but my health in a 
great measure restored, and abundant, and heretofore un- 
known leisure secured to me, by the advice of my physi- 
cians, the record is one of unfaithfulness and shortcoming; 



846 COUSIN ALICE. ' 

and of yielding too often to covert temptations to self- 
indulgence to whicli my position has peculiarly exposed 
me. I could not but be thankful for the abounding, and 
unlooked for blessings of the year, particularly for the 
health and strength of the present ; and I desire in God's 
help to renew the vow of incessant faithfulness, especial- 
ly in the care of my time, my health, and my duty to my 
children. I pray for a rich blessing ' of the lest things 
upon the friends whose roof protected me, whose thought- 
ful and unwearied attentions did so much for my restora- 
tion when I had so slight a claim on them. ' The bless^ 
ing of the right and the left be upon them.' 

"I arose this morning burdened with the many cares 
and anxieties coming from the proposed changes in our 
life, Sunday as it was ! The inevitable cares and perhaps 
straightness of income, growing out of retirement from 
active business, vex and disturb me. Yet from the first 
we have tried to seek God's guidance, to«ay, Hf Thy 
presence go not with us carry us not up hence^ and I know 
these distracting thoughts are mere human impatience, 
and the temptations to evil, to hinder me in present duty. 
It has been peculiarly so this morning, but I try to banish 
them by prayer, by*recollections of the past, and its very 
manifest Divine guidances, some of them so wonderfully 
clear and plain. 

" 'Brought safely by His hand so far, 
Why wilt thou now give place, to fear? 
How canst thou want if He provide. 
Or lose thy way with such a guide?* 



HER LAST JOURNAL. 347 

" Perhaps, too, the decision is not my aftair after alL 
I have been so accustomed to take responsibility, that I 
may be thrusting myself forward in the place of S. now. 
I am called away, clearly called away, to other and absorb- 
ing interests. It may be all decided for me when I 
return. There is great comfort in believing that S. 
really does 'seek counsel' as well as myself, and this 
transaction may be wholly between his own soul and 
God. 

"I have been greatly 'helped and strengthened,' as 
Mr. Gurney himself would have said, by my morning 
reading in the ' Life of J. J. Gurney.' The longer I live, 
the more I am persuaded that the Lord's children, un- 
worthy as they are, are the objects not only of His 
spiritual grace, but of His especial Providence ; that they 
are of more value in His sight than ' many sparrows,' and 
that ' the very hairs of our heads are numbered.' If this 
belief is weU founded, if It is proved both by Scripture 
and experience, what a repose we may feel in the various 
turns and changes of our-mortal pilgrimage. Truly ' all 
things shall worh together for good to tliose that love God.'' 

" In his after experience he thus depended upon the 
Divine guidance. "When he became impressed with the 
belief that it was his duty to enter parliament, to bear 
Christian testimony before the English nation, he sought 
for every outward assistance to his judgment ; yet was 
left clearly, by the advice of friends, and the power of 
circumstances, to foUow his own choice. He feared lest 
't should be only a temptation to draw him away frora 



848 



COUSIN ALICE. 



duties akeady accepted. Yet, on tlie other hand, if it 
were God's call to a new field of wider usefulness, he 
wished to accept it. 

" ' Deep has been my conflict,' he writes, 'in the fear 
of the enemy's snares. I desire to te preserved in patience 
and simple dependence^ resting assured that the Lord will 
not leave me without a light to follow; that He will 
make an opening in His Providence for whatever is truly 
His own will concerning me. Or that, on the other hand, 
he will condescend to close every door through which the 
spirit forbids an entrance.' 

" ' I have had many anxious thoughts as to my future 
lot, and proceedings, and even confiicts between opposite 
views of duty; but I wholly believe that the Lord is 
graciously disposed to deal gently with me and permit 
me time to try the flame wet or dry, to go before me, and 
be my rearward. 

" ' We are on the wing this morning for Bayswater, 
trusting that a time of quietness of mind, and it may be 
some enjoyment in the Lord's service, awaits me. In the 
meanwhile, I leave events to work in that way which a 
good Providence may see fit to direct, being clear that 
my own course must at present be purely passive, 
and humbly trusting that my Divine and Holy Master 
will not leave His unworthy servant without help and 
guidance.' " 

" I was never," says Mrs. Haven, " more 
fully persuaded of being sent on a message than 



TIER LAST JOURNAL. 349 

in this visit to Boston. I go with a cheerM and 
tranquil mind now, leaving all in God's hands." 

This visit to Boston was a matter of great 
moment to many persons. Her sister was there 
then, and with her two yoimg persons, in whose 
care and welfare they- were mutually interested. 
There was much to be talked about and decided 
upon, and the week spent there seemed all too 
short for its engagements. She also saw some 
old acquaintances, and made a few new ones. 
To all she bore the same impression. Her quick 
interest in every one, her sound judgment, her 
keen enjoyment, her words of counsel and com- 
fort, added a new zest to every life with which 
hers came into contact. Going to a suburban 
town to dine with a connection, the drive on a 
wet day gave her some cold. She was a little 
hoarse on her return, and complained of her 
throat in the evening, but seemed very bright 
and almost gay, and would not admit that she 
was ill. 

Speaking of singing — ^her favorite song was 
asked for,. the last evening she was in Boston. 
She replied that she had no voice whatever, but 
" if they could endure the dismal croak which 



S50 COUSIN ALICE. 

any attempt on her part at singing must be, she 
would try it." She went to the piano and sung 
the song of K. H. Stoddard's, which has been 
referred to, entitled 

"THE TWO BRIDES. 

" I saw two maids at kirk 

And both were fair and sweet, 
One in her wedding robe, 
And one in her winding sheet. 

" The chorister sung- the hymn. 
The sacred rites were read. 
And one to Life for Life, 
And one to Death, was wed. 

*' They were borne to their bridal beds. 
In loveUness and bloom. 
One in a merry castle. 
The other a solemn tomb. 

" One on the morrow awoke 
To a world of sin and pain. 
But the other was happier fai; 
And nerer woke again." 

Alas ! the music was gone from that voice 
forever on earth. The hoarseness never left her, 
and sometimes for days and weeks after this she 
could only speak in a whisper. Her letters, on 
her return to IN'ew York, were often prefaced in 
this way : 



HER LAST JOURNAL. 851 

f 

^ "I am forlorn to- day, with a new cold and quite 

j.oarse, whicli I regret on — --'s account." "Mj throat 
[,revents my going to see Mrs. 0. about Mrs. E., as I 
iioped to." " Dr. S. says it is all climate ; that I ought not 
to be here in March." " Tou will find lots of preaching 
in this envelope; but several things have done me so 
much good, that I could not help sharing the comfort 
with you." " I said to S. a night or two ago : 

" ' How often we are kept up and quieted by plans that 
seem the best things, but which are not the ones Provi- 
dence is preparing for us or designs us to have. How 
one plan which never was adopted, stood between me 
and despair for a month or two.' "When I heard that 
your wishes in regard to sending B. away were frus- 
trated, I felt at once that it was because some better 
purpose still for him existed in God's providence, to be 
known in good time ; to be asked for in faith perhaps, 
and to be depended upon, since all our earthly wisdom 
seemed to be wrapped up in that one plan. My throat is 
hateful again. I don't know but I must stay in the 
house till we are done with snow." 

In regard to tlieir arrangements for the 
future, wliicli had disturbed her so, she writes in 
her journal : 

*^March%M. 
" For the present, at least, we are to return to * Tlie 
"VYillows.' I found it decided for me on my return from 
Boston, so I had nothing to do but ' to sit still.' " 



352 COUBIN- ALICE. 

) 

After emimerating tlie advantages of keeping 
" The Willows " for tlieir summer residence, she 



" The change in the winter brings change of scene-' 
prevents morbid forecasting, and gives opportunity for 
daily exercise in the open air. "When I incline to be rest- 
less and impatient about the final issue, I see the message 
still, ' in quietness and confidence shall le your strength.'' " 

During Lent of this year her mind and heart 
were full of concern for the beloved little church 
in Mamaroneck where she had so long wor- 
shipped, for its pastor, for whom her respect and 
affection were very Bincere, as the whole of her 
life as a parishioner, and as many references in 
her letters and journal testify, and for the people 
with and for whom she liad so long prayed. 
She prays now that " after a long drouth, the 
spirit of God may be plentiftilly poured out 
upon them." 

" I have found two helpful things in my -morning 
reading, both marked long ago. 

" ' They helped every one^ his iieighljor and every one 
said to his I)rother, de of good courage.'' 

" ' So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he 
that smote with the hammer, him that smote with the 
anvil, saying,^ etc. 



HER LAST JOURNAL. 353 

j 

'. " ' Fear not for I am tcitJi tliee; fear not., le not dis- 
\nayedjfoQ' I am tTiy God. I loill strengthen thee., yea., I 
will help thee., yea., I tcill %i]ihold thee.'' 
) " ' When the poor and needy seelc icater, and there is 
.i,07ie^ and their tongue faileth for tMrst., /, tlie Lord., icill 
hear them ; I the God of Israel will not forsake them.'' 

" ' I will open rivers in high places., and fountains in 
the midst of the valley ; I will make tlie loilderness a pool 
of water., and the dry land springs of water.'' 

"I was obliged to leave churcli this morning from 
faintness, to mj great disappointment, but I was repaid, 
in the little time that I was there, for the effort of going, 
by this additional helpful, and very familiar text in the 
morning lesson : Haggai ii. 4. Perhaps the first part of 
the chapter gives the reason for this long drouth, and my 
repeated disappointments. Selfish prayers for husband, 
wife, child, or friend, are refused and rebuked by failure 
and disappointment, because we have not the interest of 
God's church, His house, at heart until we have less 
' narrow prayers,' take up His cause heartily, and receive 
all at once." 

Slie records at some length another instance 
of remarkable answer to prayer in her own ex- 
perience, and then says : 

"• Answered again ' in that which is least,' let me see 
in it a pledge 'of that which is greatest.' 

" I have had a nic5 morning, though quite ill, finding 



354 COUSIN ALICE. 

so mucli encouragement for tlie country's peace and tlier 
whole world's conversion from rebellion against God's| 
laws. How wonderful that this should come also ! " i 

" April 4<?, Eabteb Eve. ' 

" Lent going out in a heavy storm of rain, sleet, and 
snow. I proposed to myself at its commencement severaj 
distinct subjects for prayer. I have kept as usual an un- 
faithful watch. Yet God may even now grant me my 
heart's desire, undeserved as it is. It is never of our 
deserving, but of His mercy. Therefore I hope that 

F may be led into the way of true peace ; that S. 

may grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord 
Jesus Christ ; that N may. be strengthened and con- 
firmed, and brought nearer to the Heavenly Father, 

by His loving kindness; that B may receive the 

baptism of a deep repentence and a true conversion ; that 
our land may be restored to peace and prosperity, and 
we be made, by our trials, a God-fearing and honoring 
nation; that His kingdom inay come in all the world; 
also I pray anxiously for my beloved church and pastor. 

" I have had the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiali for my 
evening lesson, full of promises for all these things, espe 
cially the last two verses. 

" I leave all in God's hands, all for His own good time 

and way. I find this is not my first watch for F . 

God h-as granted me all else — why not this ? 

" The sleety storm goes on. Before the verses I have 
quoted is this, most appropriate for the day : ' For as the 
rain cometh down, and the snow from Heaven, and -re- 



^ HER LAST JOURNAL. 355 

/ turneth not thither, but watereth the earth and maketh 
■it bring fortn and bud, that it maj give seed to the sower 
/ 'and bread to the eat^r.' 

I " ' So sliall my word te that goetJi Jort\ out of my 
I moutJi. It sliall not return %into me voidj tut it sliall 
\; accomplish that which I please^ and it sliall prosper in the 
1 thing whereto I sent it.'' 

"God's word is the means <5f accomplishing the 

change we desire in the hearts and lives of men ; but as 

the snow and the rain sink into the ground, and become 

forgotten influence^, though not the less vital and sure ; 
\ bringing the thing to pass in proper, or ordered time and 

season ; so with this fertilizing, nourishing, transforming 

power. 

" We give the credit to the sunshine of providential 

circumstances, which brings the bud to blossom, the fruit 

to maturity." 

; Except lier letters, she wrote nothing more. 
\ How full her heart was for others ! How broad 

and all-embracing her Christian love and chari- 
ji ty, this last record shows. What was left of 
' ' life and strength was given as freely as her 

prayers. 
) In spite of the remonstrances of her friends 
; she had charged herself with the preparation of 

the spring wardrobes of two yonng relations, in 
j addition to all that her own family required. 



\\ 



a56 COUSIN ALICE. 

She was unable to walk, but she drove out day 
after day to attend to these things ; sometimes 
sj)ending a whole morning in the carriage, and 
interesting herself in all the minutiaB of the work. 
Her extraordinary energy constantly sought fresh 
objects on which to expend itself, and never 
seemed to fail till she was laid upon her couch. 

She consulted with writers and publishers 
about new editions of favorite books, wrote 
many letters connected with such business, re- \ 
commended plans which seemed to her to prom- ' 
ise success, hurried some who would possibly 
be late in getting a book ready for the press in 
time for the fall issue ; and thus interested and 
occupied herself when able to be off her couch, 
till the time came for them to return to " The 
Willows." 

To those who watched her during the latter 
years of her life, when heart and brain were 
always busy with the interests of others, who 
saw her use her pen till it fell from fingers 
too weak to hold it longer, who heard her plead 
the cause of others w^hile she had a voice to 
speak, who saw lips move in inarticulate prayer 
when the low voice had almost left her, who 



HER LAST JOURNAL. 357 

counted every effort by which she thus ex- 
hausted her ebbing life with the breathless anx- 
iety of agonized love — ^to all such there is a 
thought of consolation in lines recently written 
of her by one who was reading tearfully her last 
published volume : 

" I know she sees how many hearts 
Hare thrilled to purer thought, 
Touched by the holy sympathies 
Her blessed life has taught. 

** I know that every gentle word 

Traced amid care and pain, 
Wrought into jewels, shines upon 

Her angel robes again ; 
That in the New Jerusalem 

No whiter soul is there, 
Than hers who fashioned life with faith, 

And ended it with prayer." 

16 



CHAPTEE IX. 



LAST LETTERS. 




'HE letters to her friends at this time,/ 
all expressing the most lively in-' 
terest in their affairs, which were 
instinctively confided to her, seen 
"wonders of wisdom in the counsel she gave, anc' 
almost inspired benedictions. To one who wat 
in great trouble, she writes : 

"Some time ago we took for our year's motto, ''Be 
careful of nothing., tut in etery thing hy prayer and sup- 
plication., v)ith thanksgiving., let your requests "be made 
Tcnown unto God? I, at least, realized the promise follow- 
ing, ' and the peace of God which passeth all understand- 
ing shall Tceep your hearts and minds through Christy 
Jesus."* 

" It lias been a time, however, of comparative personal I 
rest. I often wonder how I shall bend to the stream of I ^ 



LAST LETTERS. 359 

) trouble when it rises again, loss of home, or children, or 
_ husband, or means to do for others, or especially the suf- 
ferings of those I love. I should despair of being brave 
but for the promise, ' God is faithfuV Perhaps I shall 
be unfaithful, and take myself out of His hands ; that is 
all I dread. 

" May you, dear JST , ' increasing in the knowledge 

of God, be strengthened with all might according to His 
glorious power, unto all patience, and long suffering, with 
joyfulness.' "What more can I say ? I often think of the 
disciples at the Transfiguration, ' and tliey feared as they 
entered into the cloud.'' But ' there came a wice out of 
the cloud, saying : This is my leloved Son, hear Him.'' I 
have always found that I learn more of the Beloved Son 
when the cloud overshadows me, much as I dread to 
enter it, and that I listen more willingly to His voice. I 
have some verses half planned, with that thought. Do 
you like it? Does it give you comfort? I may have 
seen it somewhere before. 

" This letter, so far, might be called ' Scripture read- 
ings,' but 1 don't know how else to attempt to meet the 
throng of adversities that seem to hem you in ; and you 
will understand, I know," 

Just before they left for the country she 
wrote to a dear friend in the city who was also 
an invalid : 

" I did not think, my dear C , that so many days 

would have passed before I acknowledged your little 



860 COUSIN ALICE. 

basket of 'immortelles,' a surprise and a pleasure to 
receive. I believe it is the only material keepsake I have 
from you save your picture. But I shall never need a 
remembrance, glad as I am to have this. You were con- 
tinually in my mind during Lent, and more particularly 
in Passion week. I started on Good Friday afternoon to } 
go over to see you, but the wind was uncommonly cold, 
and my throat very raw; besides, I had elected all along / 
to go over on Easter Even, in memoriam of the walk we 
took to St. Peter's together, in the evening, so many years 
ago ; so I turned back, and the next day was stormy, and 
then weakness, and illness, and so on — and on — till now. 

" How much I thought of you then, always suffering, 
always having suffered ' in the fleshy'' aye, and in spirit 
too ! May God give you patience as He has done, and 
trust in the wisdom and love that cannot err, though 
doubt and weariness rise up to deny it ! 

" I had two or three dreadful nights, and in one I . 
remember with what a flash of comfort came the thought, 
* Who spared not His own Son ; ' and what must sin be, or / 
rather what must it not be, when such an expiation is 
required ! 

" May God be with you day and nighf on your bed of 
suffering. May Christ and the Comforter abide with you 
always ; may angel's care minister to you until you shall ■ 
come where the inhabitants shall no more say, ' / am ^ 
sich, neither shall there le any more pain.'' 

" Will you thank your husband for the Eeport, which 
I have read with much interest, and for his note, and hia 1 ) 



i LAST LETTERS. 361 

j troubl^regarding the tract. Tell him to take no further 
trouble. If he thinks it might be nseful, I will have 
another edition printed at my own expense, and send it 
to the Commission ; but I feel so uncertain of its value. 
I suppose I ought to act on faith, and the remembrance 
of the cup of cold watery 

In May they left their city home, but their 
own home, which had been for some time under- 
going repairs, was not yet ready for them, and 
they stayed a short time at a house in the neigh- 
borhood, where Mr. H. could superintend the 
last preparations for the reentrance to " The 
"Willows." From this place she writes : 

" I dare say you will think I am lost, but ?have been 
used up for several days, suffering from such repeated 
and prolonged attacks of faintness that I dared not go 
out. Some days these continue all day, in others they 
pass off in the morning ; they are accompanied by spasms, 
from, indigestion I suppose." 

And then follow several pages of business 
matters, chiefly planning for the comfort of 
others. Again : 

" With S., who cannot bear to see me exerting myself, 
out of the way, and my morning agony over, I will try 
to say two words or so. I tried to write all last week, 
but was very sick with rush of blood from the heart to 



363 COUSIN ALICE. 

the head, alternating with faintness, partly procH!!bed by 
' starvation.' Meat and bread are all that agree with me, 
and these I cannot eat ; my throat is in snch a state that 
soft boiled eggs and cream are all I can swallow, and these 
J cannot digest. 

" To-day I must really say, ' Thank God I am much 
more comfortable.' My voice is quite audible, which is 
encouraging, as it is damp, and an easterly wind. 

" I had no idea I had so little patience and endurance 
for bodily pain. I thought I could be very heroic, but I 
believe more than ever that we never know ourselves. 
This illness has taught me several lessons ; but oh ! I for- 
get so fast ! I thought last year if I could only be spared 
for the children I would be so faithful, but I was not. I 
do not suppose I shall be now, but I mean to be, ' sick 
bed ' resolution as it is. All this about myself^ my favor 
ite topic of late." 

Again : 

" I don't know whether I ought to write to you to- 
day after all. This long storm has depressed me, and the 
lack of fresh air and exercise has added to my discomfort, 
that when I have said that the dampness has made my 
throat worse, I have said the worst of myself. I v/as 
getting on nicely when this storm set in, with the change 
of air, scene, and food, and hope to do so again in the 
sunshine. I suppose mother has told you what a serious 
attack I have had ; I felt so very ill as I finished my last 
letter to you, that but for croaking, I should have said 






LAST LETTERS. 36& 

liat / lelieved I was going out with the tide, I know I 
meant it as I wrote that last sentence, and in all the 
bodily suffering I ever endured, nothing ever went be- 
yond it. My heart seemed to have been paralyzed, but 
its action is somewhat restored. 

"I am just as far as possible from your sisterly idea 
of ' doing my best for everybody.' I do nothing for any- 
body. I do not even care for myself, but lie hours to- 
gether on the bed or sofa, in the most utter do-nothing- 
ness that I ever arrived at. I can scarcely believe it, or 
understand how so short an illness could so use up my 
strength." 

They had now reentered " The Willows," 
which had been enlarged and repaired. The 
grounds were in most perfect order, and the 
winter in town had prepared Mrs. Haven for 
the keenest ^enjoyment of home comforts. As 
a surprise for her, her husband had very elegant- 
ly, and with especial regard to her peculiar 
tastes, refurnished her own room. She said 
characteristically : 

"The night before we went into our own home I 
was very sleepless, so I lay awake, planning the clianges 
in the ordering of the furniture necessary from increas- 
ed room. The first night I spent there I lay awake 
■ thinking sadly how much the money spent in that luxuri- 



S64 COUSIN ALICE. 

ous foi'msliing would have done for so many wlio were 
needing help." 

She could not be insensible or ungrateful 
to the love wbich had surrounded her now, by 
the grace and beauty which she had so long 
denied to the tastes which always craved such 
things. She writes : 

" All my life long I have loved beautiful and dainty 
things, and have never had the opportunity to indulge 
my taste ; indeed I had entirely given up the thought, or 
longing I might call it, till this summer every one con- • 
spu'es to indulge me. The house outside and in, my 
lovely room, the out-of-door beauty everywhere. I can- 
not tell you what delight and enjoyment I take in them 
all." 

As the weather became suitable she ventured 
out a few times about the grounds, her sweet 
face protected by a dainty hood, and a fleecy 
Shetland shawl wrapped about her wasted figure. 

Once she took courage and went into town, 
partly to see her physician and partly to carry 
out one of her favorite projects ; for despite her 
protest she was still planning the comfort and 
welfare of others. She had been very anxious 
for a friend to have a sewing machine, and had 



LAST LETTERS. 365 

arranged tliat it sliould be a gift to her. She 
made an appointment to meet her at the estab- 
lishment of Wheeler & "Wilson, that she might 
witness the pleasure and surprise the gift would 
bring, as she received one of their most beanti- 
fuUy-finished and elegantly-cased instruments. 
A ruling passion indeed, strong to the last, was 
this of serving others ! But the ride to town, 
and the excitement attending her visit, were too 
much for her strength. In the suffering that 
followed she confessed to this. 

It was here, and of this last visit, that a gen- 
tleman said on her leaving the place, " The sun 
seems to go under a cloud as she goes out." 
With the kind smile on her lip, and the Hght in 
her eye kindled by her genial interest in every 
thing, in every person, even in the transaction 
of business, she did indeed bring sunshine with 
her. She awoke a true feeling of friendship in 
hearts that too often closed in their counting- 
rooms to every thing but business and its selfish 
engrossments. 

" Toward' the latter part of her life," said a 
gentleman with whom she had only business re- 
lations, " she seemed to me as I talked with her 
16* • 



366 COUSIN ALICE. 

to have a halo about her, as the old saints are 
painted." 

Then her sympathies with others, and hei 
interest in them, was so infectious. She appeared 
to take it for granted that all felt as kindly, and 
were as glad of the opportunity to do good as 
she was ; and very shame not infrequently broke 
through the crust of selfishness, and dissipated 
churlishness, bringing out a man's heart and better 
feeling as she appealed in behalf of any cherish- 
ed interest she was trying to promote. She had 
the tact in which many who are generous them- 
selves are quite deficient. She could appeal so 
effectually, that she really taught the pleasure of 
service rendered, to some, the centre and circum- 
ference of whose life was self. 

The " good in every thing " was ever appa- 
rent to her spiritual vision. One of lier latest 
letters to her sister was in this wise : 

"You and W. will find the use of these years of dis- 
cipline through the perverseness and ungenerousness of 
others, and the combination of cares and" trials. ' Fit for 
the Master's use,' and now He appoints the service. It va 
strange as my days of active service end, that yours com- 
mence. Your true sphere will be found and widen be- 



LA8T^ LETTERS. 861 

fore you as mine closes. / am content. I could not once 
have said this, to be laid aside and see others allowed to do 
what my hands no longer may." 

In despite of pain and weariness, of days of 
intense suffering wliich no human love was 
powerful to soothe, these last weeks held much 
joy and peace in them. Her heart was always 
full of thankfulness for the slightest alleviation 
to her pain. Her enjoyment often far out- 
balanced her suffering; her very last letter to 
her sister began, " This is a heavenly day in a 
heavenly place." 




CHAPTEE X. 

LAST E0UE8. 

HESE cannot be better depicted than 
by ber beloved " Marie E.," whose 
privilege it was to be beside her in 
those sacred moments, and to min- 
ister to her last earthly needs. 

"On the 21st of July her haby-girl was born; and 
after that it was hoped that her disease would be arrested, 
and health restored. But the fair little child throve and 
grew strong while the mother drooped and failed. There 
was a brief rallying, the last flashing upward of the wast- 
ing flame when the baby was a few weeks old. But the 
false hope was too quickly dashed, and a few weeks 
more found the httle new-comer motherless, the house- 
hold desolate, and life robbed of what seemed its sole 
treasure to one who 

* Will miss her, and go mourning 
All his solitary days.' 



LAST HOURS. 369 

" On "Wednesday, August 19th, she had been lifted 
from the bed to a large easy-chair in which she was 
accustomed to sit for a little while every day. Eesting 
among the soft pillows, wrapped in a Shetland shawl, 
and her exquisite hands folded across her prayer-book, 
open at the Litany^ she never looked lovelier, it seemed 
to those who lingered beside her. Her eyes were full of 
tender light, her cheeks flushed with the hectic that 
brings such fatal beauty, and the rich masses of her hair 
shading her wasted temples, all combined to make up a 
picture of Slich exceeding loveliness as will never fade 
from the melPbries of those who gazed upon it. 

" Its sweet repose lasted but for a very brief space. 
A fit of coughing, or rather an attempt to cough, 
resulted in a suffocating spasm of the throat ; and for a 
time which none measured, its duration seemed ages 
rather than moments, the very pangs of death were 
suffered in their sharpest form. "Wasted and weakened 
by her long suffering, the physical agony seemed almost 
to overpower even her faith; and the despairing cry, 
* I am dying ! oh, pray that it may be short. Oh, my 
God, let it be short,' was too full of anguish to be remem- 
bered calmly. 

"Thank God the prayers were heard; relief was 
granted, and for a little while she was given back to the 
love that clung to her so desperately. Through the 
night following she lay awake much of the time mur- 
muring repeatedly words of prayer and grateful acknowl- 
edgment for the deliverance that had been sent her. 



370 COUSIN ALICE. 

*' ' It was all needed,' she said once, ' every pang. 
But I was so weak, I thonglit I could not bear it. God 
was better than I deserved ; He lias spared my life.' 

" At another time she asked, in a half wandering way, 
waking from a brief sleep : 

" ' Do you believe there is really a God who is 
our Father ? who loves us, and cares about us always ? ' 

" 'I do not believe, / Iznow^ was the reply. 'And 
so do you, Alice. IsTo one knows it so well as you.' 

" ' Oh yes, surely ! ' she exclaimed with a lovely 
smile, consciousness and memory flashing back. 'The 
everlasting arms, they are bearing me up-wlJPhd now.' 

" Bending over her at another time in the darkness, 
one who watched her heard her whisper : 

" ' I tliank Thee, oh my Heavenly Father, for all Thy 
dear love. I thaM Thee for my precious husband and 
dear children. / than^ Thee for all my agonizing svf- 
feringJ' 

" Three days more were all that remained of life, or 
suffering to her, and of the latter it pleased God to spare 
her much. She slept or was unconscious a great deal of 
the time, mind and body growing weaker together as her 
feet drew nearer the brink of the Dark River. On 
Saturday, toward nightfall, the Death Angel made his 
presence felt in the shadowy room. But he came gently, 
not with pain or terror. The anguish of that extreme 
hour was all for those who watched the failing breath 
and fading eyes, not for her in whom the awful change 
was taking place in such serene silence. No further 



LAST HOURS. 3*71 

m 

agony of the wasted form and weary spirit was allowed ; 
and hour after hour stole softly by while the calm sweet- 
ness of her rest was undisturbed by any passing pain. 
The murmured words that dropped from lips half uncon- 
scious, told only of love and happiness ; and while the 
solemn shadow of that unseen Mystery brooded above, 
the heavenly light of ' the peace that passeth all under- 
standing,' made her face ' as it were the face of an angel.' 
" None of those who stood by that death-bed will 
ever forget its holy serenity, least of all the ineffable 
beauty of that supreme moment which marked 

' The passing of the sweetest soul 
That ever looked with human eyes.* 

" 1^0 words could picture the sudden rapture that 
illuminated the whole countenance, flashed out from eyes 
we had thought closed in slumber, gleamed across lips 
that seemed sealed from smiling for ever more. It was 
as though the realization of what ' eye hath not seen, nor 
ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to 
conceive ' was revealed in one unutterable vision. The 
tear-blinded eyes fixed upon hers might not behold wliat 
she biheld, but they saw its glory reflected for one brief 
moment, never to be forgotten till the veil of this mor- 
tality is withdrawn, and we also behold ' The King in 
His beauty.'" 

How better can we picture the desolation 
that followed tlian in these lines, written years 



372 COUSIN ALICE. 

m 

before by her wbo bad * calmly gone imto ber 
rest,' witb stricken bearts tbrobbing about ber ; 
a propbetic picture of ber own borne on tbia 
lovely Sunday morning, August 23d, 1863 : 

"Shut out the sunlight from the room, 
I cannot bear its splendor, 
While tears for one so young so true, 
A mournful tribute render. 

"I'm thinking of that silent hour 
When last she smiled a blessing 
To the young children at her side, 
Who came with sweet caressing. 

" When eyes of love beheld in her 
The sum of earthly treasure, 
And a manly heart thanked God who gave 
Such gladness in such measure. 

" Ah me, how dark that pleasant room 
Where now her form is lying ! 
The laughter has to wailing changed. 
The smiles give place to sighing. 

" The little ones with linked hands. 
And voices low with weeping, 
Come softly to the narrow couch 
To see their mother sleeping. 

* They wonder at the rigid form, 
Death's icy touch revealing. 
And ask why still the heavy lids 
Her soft eyes are concealing. 



1/ 



I, 



LAST HOURS. 373 

" No pressure answers from the lips 
That, in their childish error, 
They fondly kiss, then shrink away 
With new and nameless terror. 

" Her hands are folded on her breast, 
Yet in their silent clasping. 
There seems a prayer for those she leaves, 
Comfort and guidance asking. 

" Accept the token while ye weep, 
And stricken hearts are throbbing; 
She goeth calmly unto rest, 
The grave of terror robbing. 

" To her the dusky gate of death 
Is now no fearful portal. 
Earth's keenest pangs are all forgot 
In joys of life immortal." 

The same hand that gave us the record of 
the death-bed scene, has described that which 
was witnessed in the church where she had long 
worshipped " in the beantj of holiness." 

" One word more we must claim for a passing glimpse 
at the funeral services, rendered with rare beauty and 
harmony. In the simple village church, before the altar 
where she had knelt so many years, they placed the 
casket that held all that remained of a jewel too precious 
for our keeping. Eare flowers, only less exquisite than 
the face they encircled, the hands in which the^ were 
clasped, were heaped about Jier in lavish loveliness; 



374 COUSIN ALICE. 

for friends and neighbors had vied with each other to 
adorn her death, even as thej had done to gladden her 
life, with these sweet tokens of their reverent love. One 
fair hand held sprigs of heliotrope and violets i)laced 
there hy the little fingers of her children, their usual 
morning tribute, and now their last; but the other 
clasped, lying upon her breast a cross of snow white, 
fragrant flowers. All her life long she had clung * sim- 
ply to Thy cross; " it was fitting that she should hold the 
pale emblem in death, as all felt when that sweetest of 
hymns ' Eock of ages, cleft for me,' swelled in its soft 
minors through the church. 

" Seldom at any funeral have been gathered so many 
brought together by one sincere impulse of love and 
sympathy. In the throng of earnest faces not one care- 
less, or indifferent gazer, could be seen ; young and old, 
rich and poor, met together in common sorrow, for all in 
the parish counted her as a friend. And the tears that 
rained from so many eyes, and the sobs that shook even 
manly breasts, as they drew near for one last look at 
that placid face, bore witness to the universal love and 
reverence she had inspired. But one emotion prevailed 
in all that multitude ; they wept together as a bereaved 
household mourning its dearest ornament and joy. 

"The pastor who had baptized her children, one after 
another, and ' broken the bread of life ' to her kneeling by 
these chancel rails where now her coflSn stood, read the 
solemn and beautiful burial service above lier head. 
And the friend of her childhood, the brother- in-law whosa 



LAST HOURS. 375 

love had followed her in every event of her whole life, 
and who had thus a stUl nearer and dearer rigiit to share 
in this sacred oflBce, spoke the fitting and expressive 
eulogy which will he rememheied long by all who were 
present, for its eloquence and indescribable tenderness, as 
well as its deep truthfulness to her character. 

" We are fain to linger over this closing^icene, beauti- 
ful beyond any idea that our poor words have given ; 
inasmuch as it was in perfect Imrmony with a hfe whose 
beauty has rarely been equalled." 

"When tliey left tlie chnrcli all tliat was 
mortal of Alice Haven was borne to tlie quiet 
little burial ground of Rye, where her last rest- 
ing-place is marked by a cross, as was ber own 
wisb, bearing simply her name and age, and the 
words so often uttered by ber lips, and whicb she 
illustrated through all her life : 

"BeAB TE one ANOTHEE's BUPvDENS, and so FULFIL 
THE LAW OF ChEIST." 



CONQLUSION. 




THRILL of sorrow and sympathy 
went through the conntry when 
on the morning of the 24th of 
August, the readers of the I^ew 
York " World " learned of the death of " Cousin 
Alice " in the following obituary notice : 

" In the simple announcement in our obituary column 
this morning, of the death of Alice B. Raven^ many of 
our readers will find an interest, the deeper and sadder 
for their knowledge that it chronicles the departure from 
earth of one of its most gifted and lovely daughters 
known to a multitude of our readers as ' Cousin Alice.' 

" Mrs. Haven was yet in the prime of life, not having 
completed her thirtj^-sixth year. For more than half of 
her days she has been achieving her reputation as a pure 
and charming writer for the young, and has won for her- 
self a place among the poets of the land by not a few 
lofty and enduring lyrics. 



CONCLUSION. Z11 

"Admirable and highly cherished as her fame in 
the world of letters will be, this is, however, the least 
excellence of her now sacred memory. The crown of 
her character was her truly unselfish and unsparing con- 
secration to the highest good of others, not only of those 
who had natural claims upon her but of all who came 
within the reach of her hand and her influence. 

" She spent and was spent for the promotion of pure 
religion and sweet practical virtue. In her the church 
found a faithful adherent and auxiliary, and charity a 
blessed exemplar and almoner. Her bereaved home and 
family will mourn her only more in degree, than the parish 
and the people, who will know her no more in her 
unostentatious and almost uncircumscribed ministries of 
love. Beyond these a wide circle of the public will miss 
her ever fresh and fragrant contributions to sacred and 
secular literature alike. 

" Her beautiful life-service is ended apparently in the 
midst of its sweet and pure hturgy ; but God and the 
angels have uttered its Amen.^^ 

In the same paper appeared from tlie same 
pen a fitting 

" IN MEMORIAM. 

"The silver cord is loosed whereon were strung 
The priceless pearls of an unsullied life ; 
And while the jewels drop, our hearts are rife 
With anguish from their grieving tendrils wrung — 



378 COUSIN ALICE. 

.That grew and twined about that slender string, 

As if it held a cable's strength instead; 

Half of our wealth is lost since she is dead — 
Whose yirtues to contempt our best deeds bring. 
No more, alas ! that cord of pearls shall hang 

For rare adornment, Earth's fair neck around ; 

I*s silver brightness hid beneath the ground ; 
And every scattered pearl for us a pang, 
Yet Memory's hand shall gather them again 
And bind them on our hearts, a holy endless chain. 

"W. C. R." 

Mrs. Haven was buried in the secluded 
Cemetery of Rye in accordance with her own 
wish. She had a strong preference for a 
qniet country bnrial place, and some years be- 
fore had expressed the feeling in a poem which 
she had written with reference to the ^New 
York Bay Cemetery, entitled, 

<'BEAR OUT THE DEAD." 
Aye ! carry out your dead ! 
They have won rest ; 
Theirs was the burden, and the heat of day, 
Now smooth the shining hair, the white hands lay 
Folded upon the breast. 

The fluttering heart is still ! 
No hope, no care ! 
In moveless calm, the labored throbbings cease ; 
The marble forehead bears the seal of peace, 
Its smile, the lips still wear. 



conclusion: 379 

Therefore, " bear out the dead." 

Far from the strife 
That daily soundeth through the city streets, 
"Where momently the burdened air repeats 

The hurried march of life. 

"Nay," some true mourner saith, 

" In hallowed ground 
We make their graves, in shade of cross or spire, 
"Where chime and prayer, and chaunt of solemn choir 

Thrill with a dirge-like sound." 

Or others grieving pray — 
" Not out of sight 
Make the low mound, but where our feet may tread 
Daily, in loving memory of the dead, 

"Who were life's chief delight." 

Think you our anthems reach 
"Where that ^^new song^* 
As noise of many waters surging rolls ? 
Our earthly prayers though wrung froni anguished souls 
They hear where angels throng? 

And when another love 

Shall fill the heart 
Now void and desolate, these graves will lie 
O'ergrown, or trampled down by passers-by. 

In crowded church or mart. 

For traffic in due time 

"Will covet this — 
The narrow space which grudgingly is given, 
Pent under walls which bar the light of Heaven, 

The sunshine's gentle kiss. 



r" 



380 COUSIN ALICE 

Therefore, " bear out the dead " 

"Where earthly calm 
May image that which they have surely won, 
Where careless feet the hallowed paths shall shun. 

Nor idle hands work harm. 

Daisies and violets, 

The snow white rose, 
"With trailing ivy o'er the earth shall wreathe. 
And solemn chants the lingering south winds breathe, 

Where fir or cypress grows. 

No taint of sin or shame 

The rippling tide 
Bears from the distant city clearly seen, 
The waters roll their clear, bright waves between. 

And life from death divide. 

They ask this rest of thee 

All faith to prove. 
In the fair stillness eloquent to teach 
The Sabbath calm of Heaven surpassing speech, 

The dead ye mourn and love. 

From every direction the most loving and rev- 
erential tributes were poured forth to the mem- 
ory of one whom all claimed as a Mend, and to 
whom many looked up as a benefactress. Letters 
were addressed to her husband and family, in some 
cases by those who were personally strangers to 
them ; tributes were paid in newspapers and mag- 



CONCLUSION. 881 

azines, in prose and verse, and tlie characteristics 
of tliese were that even more love and apprecia- 
tion of the devoted and high-minded Christian 
woman and self-sacrificing friend was evident in 
these innnmerahle tributes than apprehension 
of the comprehensive and fine intellect which 
had made her heart ofierings so well known and 
widely spread. 

It is impossible to give all these, but from 
them we select a few which will be read with 
interest: The first is from a letter addressed 
by her pastor, the Eev. John Ward, to her 
sister 

" I am happy to add my testimony to the rare excellence 
and exalted worth of character possessed by Mrs. Haven. 
I feel it to have been a privilege to have had her for a 
parishioner, such as rarely falls to the lot of a country 
clergyman. In a parish and neighborhood so circum- 
scribed as this, full scope could not be afforded for powers 
so great, and energies so untiring as hers. Yet in every 
thing in which the cause of the church, the advancement 
of true religion, and the good of society were concerned, 
s7id was ever foremost; and with that sweet persuasiveness 
of manners so especially her own, she overcame ob- 
stacles, and effected results, such as few could have ac- 
complished. 

17 



382 COUSIN ALICE. • 

" Confirmatioas in the parish were to her, seasons of 
peculiar interest, and her cooperation in preparing the 
candidate for assuming the obligations of Baptism with 
intelligence and serious devotion of heart, was most 
gratefully appreciated. In the Confirmation season to 
which you refer, and in which there seemed to prevail in 
the parish a more general feeling of the importance of 
religious duties, she was most untiring in her efforts to 
assist me ; and in some cases which required to be ap- 
proached with peculiar tact and gentleness, the fruits, I 
am persuaded, were the harvest of her prayers and efforts. 

"She particularly impressed me with her conscien- 
tious observance of the Lord's day, so faithfully fulfilling 
the injunction, 'Eemember the Sabbath day to keep 
it holy.' She did indeed 'stand up for God,' and was 
found in His Temple Avhen her health would have been 
deemed by many a sufficient excuse for her remaining at 
home, and when her devoted and earnest manner im- 
pressed all that her's was no lip service, but the homage 
of a heart lifted in grateful praise, or bowed in lowliest 
breath of prayer ; listening, too, to teachings, which if they 
seemed feeble to her, she yet received as from one whom 
she felt to be an ambassador from his Master and hers. 

" Knowing Mrs. Haven's many social and literary en- 
gagements, I called less frequently than my inclinations 
prompted, but I always left ber strengthened for my 
labor, and inspired by her zeal which had no limit, but 
the salvation of all with whom she came ia contact. 

" If I should attempt to speak of her charities, and ]iei 



CONCLUSION. 383 

efforts to ameliorate the condition of tlie poor in tlio 
village, I might fill pages. 

" Drawing from the fountain of her Christian benevo- 
lence, she literally obeyed the Divine injunction, ' Never 
turn thy face away from any poor man,' and the kindly 
words of sympathy and counsel with which her charities 
were accompanied, have caused her to be remembered 
with a most reverential affection. ' Many shall rise up 
and call her blessed.' 

" xis an instance of the admiration and love with which 
she was regarded, a devoted member of the Eomish 
Church said, at her funeral, 'If Mrs Haven has not gone 
to Heaven, no one need try to.' 

" She was certainly that noblest type of woman, tJie 
Christian woman. One who wore always the badge of 
her profession, and like the Apostle, felt the cross to be 
her chiefest glory. Tliis I think was the secret of the 
great influence which she exerted in the society in which 
she moved ; the beautiful consistency of character that 
showed her to be the Christian at all times and in all 
places, and above all her beautiful example as a humble 
and devoted follower of the lowly Jesus, which made so 
many willing to be led by her whose hold they saw was 
so firm upon the Eock of Ages." 

From tlie various notices whicli appeared in 
the leading magazines, we select one from tlie 
pen of Miss Yirginia Townsend, one of the edi- 
tors of Arthur's Home Magazine, which is par- 



384 COUSIN ALICE. 

ticularly interesting, because it refers to an inci- 
dent which illustrates an eminent characteristic 
of Mrs. Haven, her broad sympathy, and un- 
tiring effort to serve others : 

*' The closing days of the hist summer carried to many 
a home and heart throughout the land a message of gi-ief 
whose memory will not easily pass away. 

"The life of Mrs. Alice B. Haven closed just before 
the summer's did. There seemed some peculiar fitness 
in their going out so closely together — the service of both 
completed ; the voices of both falling into eternal silence ; 
and both lingering in our memories like the tones of 
some sweet singer which we may never hear again, but 
which we shall carry in our thoughts through aU our lives. 

" It does not become the writer of this to furnish 
these pages with a biographical sketch of Mrs. Haven. 
Those who knew her intimately as wife and mother, and 
sister and friend, have elsewhere performed that work, 
and briefly told us how nobly she fulfilled all the public and 
private duties of her life, faithfully and liumbly seeking to 
infuse into all the spirit of a true Christian womanhood. 

"But a single incident which came to the writer's 
knowledge, and which touchingly illustrates the scope 
and tenor of the life of Mrs. Haven, will not only be wel- 
comed by many readers who loved her work, and mourn 
her loss, but through it, though tender voice and faithful 
pen are hushed now, she may speak to some heart that 
shall be encouraged to ' go and do likewise.' 



CONCLUSION. 385 

"It IS move tliau six years ago since Mrs. Haven, 
during a brief visit to Pliiladelpliia, heard lier friend, Mr. 
Louis A. Godey, mention the name of a young lady who 
bad occasionally contributed to his magazine, and who, 
herself on a visit to the city, found suddenly a new and 
wider sphere of literary usefulness opening before her. 

" The quick sympathies of Mrs. Ilaven enlisted her 
interest at once in one, whose writings she had occasion- 
ally seen, and for whose future her generous nature felt 
a keen solicitude. 

"An interview vrith the young lady was easily ob- 
tained, and sTie will never cease to remember the impres- 
sion of Mrs. Ilaven's face and voice as she entered the 
parlor. There was so much cordial animation in her 
greeting, so much tender interest in those beautiful dark 
eyes, and oh ! so much kindly and faithful counsel in the 
words that fell a little later from the lips which seemed 
pendulous betwixt smiles and sadness, that that hour or 
two will never be forgotten by the Hstcner who hung on 
every tone and expression, and tried to catch the spirit 
and import of each ; and if she did not succeed then, she 
did afterwards when a sterner teacher revealed them. 

" An interview like this must from its very nature be 
a confidential one, reaching beyond externals, to some- 
what that is essential and vital. 

" It is fcufficient to say, that Mrs. Haven fancied her 
young friend's position had at that moment some general 
likeness to certain phases of her own experience, and 
thfit her wider knov/ledge of the v.^orld and of some 



386 COUSIN ALICE. 

peciliar paths of temptation and danger would furnisli 
those practical warnings and suggestions, of which a 
young sister- writer might greatly stand in need. 

" But how few of her sex would have had the heart, 
tlie courage, or the tact to offer these as she did ! 

" Sometimes as she touched on her own life, the tears 
stood still in those large, steadfast, beautiful eyes ; some- 
times smiles, swift and bright as a child's, flashed out 
from a face that seemed still in the light of its early 
twenties, a face beautiful in itself, growing doubly so to 
the gazer through all its infinite charm and grace of ex- 
pression. 

" The interview closed at last, regretfully on one side 
at least. The paths of these two, singular to say, never 
intersected again, although both I believe separated with 
the hope and expectation of subsequent meetings which 
various small obstacles prevented. 

" As the years grew, however, bringing with them the 
experience which makes us all sadder, and if lived in any 
true sense, wiser; the real purpose and significance of 
Mrs. Haven's visit manifested itself to her who received 
it. But a letter written to Mrs. Haven out of the grati- 
tude of her heart, Avas after awhile replied to, with that 
complete and final answer which sooner or later, oh, my 
reader, must be the last story which can be told of you, 
or me, ' She is dead ! ' 

" ' Dead and yet speaking ' by her hfe of love and 
sacrifice, of service and faithfulness, speaking in a thou- 
sand incidents such as this, that may never be written in 



CONCLUSION. 387 

any book save that one Avherein arc tlic cliaptera of 
every human life. 

" IIow many women are there, who would have liad 
the care, or taken the pains to turn aside fi»ora the 
pleasure and excitement of a brief social visit, to a stran- 
ger sister, whose feet were just about entering some un- 
tried path, wherein it was likely might lie much stress 
and trial for her ? And of few of us may it be said as of 
her, ' Her life had no ignoble days.' 

" That pen whose genius was dedicated to the service 
of God and the good of man, lies silent ; it will gladden 
and exalt us no more with its sweet stories of human life, 
of trial, of sacrifice, of faith, and of the joy and beauty of 
endurance and endeavor, amid the strain of care and wear- 
ing details of life ; no more sweet, and living home pictures, 
will brighten along her swift pen ; the small white hand 
which held it so long, and so bravely, now lies silent and 
cold under the smooth linen of these winter snows. Like 
the light of the summer days amid which she faded, has 
the noble and loving woman with her rare gifts of mind 
and heart passed away. 

"From the shadows of the little church at Mamaro- 
neck, they bore all that was mortal of Alice B. Haven ; 
but the seed which she scattered prayerfully along lier 
earthly path shall take deep root by the water courses of 
other lives, and it shall not be gathered in the harvests 
that are of this world." 

In ''The Christian Times," published at 



688 COUSIN ALICE. 

CliicagOj ai^pearecl tlie following, one of many 
more or less extended obituaries v/hicli tlie news- 
papers for weeks after lier deatli brought to tlie 
public, witnessing liow her works praised her of 
whom they wrote. 

"ALICE B. IIAYEN. 

BY MES. MAET C. YArGHN. 

" As I prepare my pen and seat myself to write, there 
comes to me tidings of tlie deatli of one well known to 
tlie reading public, but not more admired for ber talents 
tlian beloved by a large circle of deeply -attaclied friends, 
A beautiful life /was hers ; a life tliat 2^er7iaps suppressed 
its largest capacities, but put prominently forward only 
tbose that were pure and true. There is in our day a 
powerful temptation ever placed before writers. By 
pandering to a low taste, there is to be gained both 
money and popularity; by letting the imagination run 
riot in producing sensational articles, stories, sketches, or 
brochures of the Fanny Fern style, for example, there is 
to be obtained a certain notoriety which all cannot see 
is even more ephemeral than life itself— a blaze of the 
ascending rocket sure to be followed by the dull tliud 
of the falling stick. By indulging in sarcasm, by striving 
to say the wittiest and bitterest things of every human 
being and institution, by forgetting the chiefest of virtues, 
cTiarifij, the writer may gamfaiyir, of a certain sort. 



CONCLUSION. 389 

" But Alice B. Haven turned from such temptatious, 
firmly and courageously. Her talents were dedicated to 
a liigli purpose, not merely to amuse and interest, though 
she seldom foiled to do that, hut to warn, to instruct, to 
inculcate some important lesson, to paint some worthy 
moral. She did not invade the realm of the preacher ; 
her field was rather the minor morals so called, the social 
and domestic observances, the economies and charities of 
every-day hfe. In this sphere her influence has made 
itself widely felt, and her tcorls do folloio her in juster 
views of life and its responsibilities in many homes ; in 
high and noble impulses strengthened, in that every-day 
practical Christianity which consists in acting and living 
for the good of others, where formerly there was but the 
cold expression of a belief only. 

"Could there be for woman a worthier aim, or a 
more exalted sphere ? There is a diversity of gifts, and 
while one devoted woman may feel herself called upon to 
proclaim the religion of the cross to the dark-skinned 
children of the Orient, or the red man of our own 
forests, I question if she will be more truly useful than 
she who sits at home, and devotes her pen to the conver- 
sion of JicatlienessG in our own land. And there is more 
than enough heathenism, be it said with deepest humili- 
ty, not among the lowly and ignorant alone, but in the 
high places of our land. The idolatry of fashion ; the 
shrinking from known duties ; the neglect of the better 
interests of children and their proper instruction and 

training ; the narrow, selfish modes of living which seek 
17* 



390 COULm ALICE. 

only present er.se and comfort, and look not to the future 
ttMcIi will develop the harvest of all our deeds. 

" My own memories of this gifted woman are grateful 
and tender. In the darkness of a terrible misfortune, in . 
the depths of an almost overwhelming despair, she came 
to me with such sweet, womanly words of encourage- 
ment, and such tender sympathy as I can never forget 
while life lasts, and pointed mc in the Avay her feet had 
already trod. 

"Such aid as was in her power she gave, and it was 
not small. But above all I blessed her for her words of 
truth and faith which directed me to my only true 
source of help. To me she has seemed ever since, some- 
thing almost more than mortal woman; and in my imagi- 
nation I have seen her as the early martyr-Christians 
savr their saintly woman walk abroad with a visible halo 
around her head, distilling blessings as she went from 
the sanctity of her pure life. 

" Still untouched by age, beautiful and beloved, death 
has claimed her. "We trust she has but gone to a better 
home ; her quiet, fervent piety, and the exemplary purity 
and saintliness of her life, forbids every other thought. 
And so even our sadness has its tender consolation, our 
grief its tinge of perfect joy." 



CONCLUSION, 8U1 



COUSIN ALICE'S GRAVE. 

I saw her asleep for the last, 

Close-clasped in her pale hands a cross; 
Iler praying and weeping were past, 

But we stood in tears for our loss. 

The chaplets lay white on her brow, 
And lilies lay white on her breast ; 

Her shroud was as pure as the snow. 
But the cross her true beauty expressed. 

Life's burdens to bear for the faint 
Life's sorrows to share with the sad. 

This sweet service made her a saint, 

And each rough cross still made her glad. 

"What else for a sign might be set — 
Her wood-cloistered grave to reveal. 

Than the cross she is honoring yet- 
Though no more its weight she can feel ? 

The cross at her grave is as white 

As that in her hand's icy fold ; 
That faded, and this will be bright 

When the grave yard trees arc grown old. 



802 



COUSIN ALICE. 



But louger than gleam of the stone 

The light of her life shall endure ; 
By the cross to us hci-e she was known, 

She lives by the cross with the pure. 

W. C. R. 




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